Children of Azkaban
by Aera Jugou
Summary: When Pettigrew frames Lily Potter for murder, she is sent to Azkaban. Unbeknownst to all, Lily- along with Bellatrix- were with child. Watch as the duo grow, live and love.! * adopted from Keniaia *
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood tall and proud, bathed in the shadows of the dusky sky. Lights shone from almost every window, and people could be seen through the paneled glass, laughing, walking, running, studying. It was a typical Wednesday evening, and everyone was feeling relaxed and safe. Not even the growing threat of the wizard known as You-Know-Who was disturbing the tranquil air of the school.

Lily Potter smiled as she gazed at the students in the Great Hall, eating among their fellows happily, and chattering like a flock of starlings. Really, it was kind of Albus to ask them to stay in Hogwarts after Godric's Hollow, the house they were going to hide in, was blown up by Death Eaters who thought that they were inside. How they had discovered it, nobody knew, but everyone agreed that they had had a lucky escape.

Her recently married husband, James, was talking animatedly with Sirius and Remus, two of his three best friends. Peter Pettigrew, the third of said friends, was somewhere else in the castle, having decided to eat his dinner alone. She couldn't help but feel glad. Peter made her feel nervous, with his constantly darting eyes and twitching nose. Lily knew that she was being silly, and so she never mentioned it to James. But something about Peter made her blood run cold.

Shaking her head, Lily returned to her meal of juicy roast potatoes and pork, compliments of the house elves that worked in the school kitchens. It would do her no good to dwell on such thoughts. James trusted Peter, as did Albus, Minerva, and Mad-Eye. Surely they could be counted on to know who was trustworthy, and who was false.

Deciding to put the matter out of her mind, she turned to Pomona and engaged her in a conversation about the plants in Greenhouse Three.

While she nodded along to Pomona's description of the Venomous Tentacula, her mind wandered to the previous morning. She had got up with morning sickness, and had spent what felt like an hour vomiting. Hope had began to wind its way around her heart. Lily had never really planned for early motherhood, but with the war going on, she might never have a chance at it again, especially with James as an Auror. She would need to check with St. Mungos, but she was almost positive that she was pregnant. She wondered what James would say if the answer was yes.

Further down the table, Sirius was arguing with Remus. "For the last time, Moony, I can so cast a heating charm!"

Remus laughed. "I never said that you couldn't, Padfoot, only that your heating charms tend to go wrong."

Sirius gave him a sneer worthy of Severus, and raised his long black wand. An explosion of orange sparks danced from the wand's tip, settling over the room like dandelion seeds blown by a playful child. As soon as they touched a surface, the sparks exploded, leaving a hot sensation. At first the temperature remained pleasantly warm, but as more sparks exploded, the room started to reach a state of unbearable heat.

Lily began sweating badly, her soft red hair going damp and floppy. She was wearing flowing robes of a creamy shade which, though they looked pretty, were very thick and rather stifling in the heat. She wriggled in an attempt to get comfortable, but that just made her hotter. She cursed herself for not thinking of bringing a wand to the feast - she had not thought it necessary, with the castle being the safest place on Earth, but she could have really used a cooling charm. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore, and left the Great Hall to change.

Albus had been very generous when he provided their quarters. It was a large airy room, with a plush red carpet and gold patterned rug set before a carved marble fireplace. A stout four-poster bed with ruby hangings sat in one corner of the room, and next to it was a dark polished wardrobe, overflowing with their clothes - well, overflowing with mostly James's clothes. He had the largest collection of outfits that she had ever seen in a male, not to mention the hair products and skin care potions.

The bathroom was in more muted shades than the main room, with the colour scheme comprised of soft blue and white. In it there was a bathtub that an entire Quidditch team could sit down comfortably in, an ornate mirror rimmed with gold, and shiny white tiles that you could eat off, so througholy polished were they by the house-elves.

Running the cold tap, Lily splashed water on her face, and changed her thick sweater to a plain blue T-shirt. She still liked Muggle clothes, no matter how much James scoffed at them. Witch robes were just too unpractical in fights, and besides, she never really was the kind of girl who liked to wear dresses. While she was changing, she remembered her sixteenth birthday- the day she had come into her inheritance. She knew that she would tell James soon... But not yet. Ever since that life-altering day, she had had a glamour on. It easily hid the fact that she was a High Elf. Any children she had would be halflings, or perhaps more Elf then wizard or the other way 'round. After she slid the Muggle sweater on, she ran her slim fingers over her pointed ear. Lily smiled, before putting the strong glamour on yet again.

She opened the glass bathroom door to return to the feast, though she wasn't feeling very hungry. But before she could move, she heard a muffled thump, and the rushing sound of a spell being cast. Lily felt her heart beat faster, and she broke into a run. Everyone should be in the Great Hall, so no one should be casting spells. That meant that either someone had sneaked off to perform a pranking spell, or...

Lily didn't want to think about the 'or'.

Racing around a corner, Lily almost skidded into a wall, barely managing to keep her balance. She smiled in relief - then gasped in horror when she saw what was in front of her.

Madame Smith, the school nurse, was lying spread-eagled on the ground. Her brown eyes, normally so warm and caring, stared unseeing at her, as if her eyes had been snatched away and replaced with dirt filled marbles. Her face was still twisted in surprise, and Lily noted bitterly that she hadn't reached for her wand. But the corpse, horrifying as it was, was not what had made Lily gasp. It was the fact that Peter - Peter, James's friend, Peter, the boy who couldn't say boo to a goose! - was standing over her, smirking. His sleeve was pushed back, and the Dark Mark, obviously branded on recently, could be seen clearly on his chubby arm.

Lily automatically went for her wand, though in the back of her mind, she didn't really know what to do. But of course it wasn't with her. She'd left it in her quarters, never dreaming that she would need it in Hogwarts, the safest place on Earth. Peter laughed darkly, and swiftly Paralyzed her. He needed someone to take the blame in order to remain a good spy, and Lily fit the bill very well.

He bent down and began to wave his wand over her creamy, pale arm. Peter had never been a good student, but he knew enough to be able to cast a temporary skin tattoo. He smirked to himself. Now it was up to James's talent of jumping to conclusions.

Lily tried to focus. Her vision was blurry, and her head was pounding, as if thousands of people wearing steel boots were dancing in her brain. There was a coppery taste in her mouth, and she winced when she realized that she'd bitten her tongue.

From what Lily could tell, she was sitting on a hard chair, and her hands were tied behind her back. Lily shook her head, and her vision cleared. She was in a small grey brick room, with two chairs and a metal table. The door was buzzing with magic, and she drew in her breath as she recognized the sign engraved into it. She was in a Ministry holding cell. But why?

The door swung open, and her head whipped up. James stalked in, unimaginable hate and rage on his face. Lily shrank back as he slammed his fist down on the table. "Why, Lily? Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" She asked, feeling confused. James's hazel eyes were cold with loathing as he sneered. "You're one of them. A Death Eater. Filthy Mudblood, how could you kill a defenseless old woman?"

Lily felt shocked. "B-but... I would nev- It was Peter! He killed-"

James let out a cold laugh. "Is this some sick game, Lily? Peter would never go over to the Dark. Unlike you."

Unlike her? Lily stared at James, appalled. How could he think that? How could James think that she would join the ones who wanted to massacre all Muggleborns, including her? She tried to speak, but no words would come. James seemed to take that as an admission of her guilt. He leaned across the table and smirked. "If it was up to me, you'd get the Kiss. But Dumbledore thinks that you should be given another chance. So it's straight to Azkaban with you!"

Lily felt an icy clutch of fear in her stomach. Azkaban! Like most witches and wizards, she knew of the dreaded prison, but she had never in her worst nightmares dreamed of entering it. And now she was being sent there, despite her innocence. Before she could move, James stood up, and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Lily slumped over, weeping. Why had they thought her to be a Death Eater? There was no evidence, and she had certainly never wanted to be a Death Eater-

During her furious brain-storm, she glanced down at her arm. And screamed.

Black as soot, with the forked tongue of the snake flickering over her elbow, the Dark Mark leered back at her.

Every wizard feared Azkaban. It was partly why so many of the wizarding world's population just followed their leaders like sheep - they were afraid that if they put one toe out of line, the government could find an excuse to chuck them into the dark prison, forgotten by everyone while they languished in a sea of torment.

It was situated on a small rocky island, with a small beach that had sand the colour of freshly spilt blood, the rock pools filled with bronze sharp-clawed crabs and sinewy fish with jagged teeth. By day, mist swept over the island, obscuring it from the view of outsiders. At night, gales buffeted the land while huge waves crashed against the spiky rocks poking through the black water like the fingernails of a giant hag. Storms were common, and rumour had it that the weather was enchanted to make sure that none but the most heavily spelled boats could make it through the wild sea.

Azkaban itself was eerily beautiful, in the way that a blazing fire is beautiful, or a gleaming sword before it pierced your heart. The bricks were crafted from shining obsidian that was magically strengthened to keep the prisoners locked safely away. It looked like the castle of an evil wizard, with slender towers that were capped by pointed roofs, thick walls decorated with ancient runes long forgotten by everyone else, and carved skulls that sat on every available ledge, grinning madly and giving off horrible shrieks when they were touched.

Behind Azkaban was a graveyard, filled with hundreds of graves, a testimony to the fact that to be sent to Azkaban was inevitably a death sentence if the prisoner remained there too long. People like Albus Dumbledore shrank at the idea of giving prisoners a swift death, citing it as too harsh. Yet they had no problem throwing them into a hell-hole where they would die a painfully slow death, most of them insane long before their due time. But seeing as they did not end the prisoners' lives directly, the people of the wizarding world slept soundly in their beds, while in Azkaban, the prisoners screamed in agony as their worst memories were dragged through their heads over and over again.

Beyond the graveyard was the area known as the 'Dementor Den'. It was an underground cave where the dark creatures flocked, and it held many more than those that patrolled Azkaban. It was there that the Dementors rested, settled disputes, and ate their meals...consisting of bone, flesh, blood, and a tender soul on the side. No humans ever saw the inside of the den and came out alive.

Inside, the prison was dark and gloomy. The corridors twisted together in an intricate maze to prevent would-be escapees from remembering the way out, and of course, every corridor was lined with narrow cells, complete with silver bars that gave off violent magical shocks when someone tried to break through them forcefully. Even the staff slept in cells, the only difference being that their cells were magically enlarged, were considerably more comfortable, and lacked bars. The one exception was the Prison Matron who slept in the hospital wing, and she was envied by everyone.

In total, there were 564 prisoners in Azkaban, 182 human staff, and 701 Dementors, and over 498 of the prisoners were insane. The rest of them were Death Eaters who were too busy plotting to escape to succumb to insanity. Or they were insane before they went in there. One of the two.

Lily shivered as she was led past the cells, with only the prison guard and his Patronus to protect her. Through the bars of each cell, skeletal hands were stretched out, some begging for food, others reaching for the Patronus as if they could keep some of its protection by touching the silvery bear. But it was to no avail, the guard simply shot hot sparks at the prisoners until they withdrew, crying as they nursed burnt flesh.

Eventually they stopped by an empty cell, with slime dripping down the walls and a bed-mat thriving with fleas. The guard shoved her in and the door slammed shut behind her, locking magically. Lily stifled a sob, wrapping her arms around her knees. She had been abandoned by everyone she had cared about, for something she didn't do. Now Peter was still free, no doubt intending to wreak havoc upon the Light forces, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Months passed. Lily measured time by the bowls of slop pushed through the door, and the prisoners dragged to the Dementor's private den, often kicking and screaming. Those who were taken never came back.

Lily did not look like the pretty young witch who had married James Potter less than a year ago. Her once shining auburn hair had turned into a mess of silver tangles, her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were dark with grief, brought on by the Dementors that patrolled the corridors. But while the rest of her shrank, her stomach swelled, and the child growing inside her often kicked, as if to reassure her that it was still there for her. She had discovered that she was pregnant just two months into her imprisonment, confirming what she already thought. Of course, she didn't find out via a test - she only knew she was having a child when the kicking began.

Another Dementor passed her cell, and Lily closed her eyes as another wave of agony and torment washed over her. Just before she slumped into unconsciousness, she felt the baby kick again, reassuring her that everything would be okay.

Bellatrix sneered at the prisoners cowering in the corner of their cramped cell, her tattered dress sweeping the floor as she stalked up and down. The fools in the corner would be punished when they were retrieved by their master. It was them who ruined the mission, them who got her captured. Her fingers twitched, longing for a wand so she could Crucio them to insanity.

But the fools were not her main concern. She had done something unforgivable, at least in her husband's eyes. Her Lord had called her to his bed, and what disloyalty would it have been if she did not obey? He would have murdered her for disobeying, though he wouldn't have had to threaten her. Bellatrix had not slept with Rodolphus for eight years, and she longed for someone to share her bed with. But something had come out of that incident, something growing inside her right now. The incident had been seven months ago, so she didn't really have that long. It would not be a good thing if she was rescued from Azkaban in the middle of labour. All she could do was pray that her master would come for her soon.

"ARRGGGGHHHHH!"

Bellatrix's hands gripped the narrow metal bars that framed the hospital bed she lay on, while the scowling Prison Matron bustled about, pulling out what looked like torture instruments, though the Death Eater knew that they were in fact items to make the birthing process go smoothly.

She had started to go into labour two hours ago, just as the guard opened the door to push food in. Recognizing the symptoms, he had swiftly carried her to the hospital wing, depositing her on a bed with a look of disgust. As much as she hated the Prison Wardens, Bellatrix was deeply grateful for them - the fools imprisoned with her had not realized what was going on, but even they would have figured it out when the baby was born, and that would have led to very awkward questions.

"Push!"

Bellatrix resisted the urge to claw the woman's eyes out, and concentrated on getting the child out of her.

"Push!"

"I AM pushing, you ignorant Mudblood!"

The Matron hissed in annoyance. She was in fact a half-blood, but that didn't matter so much as the fact that Bellatrix was screaming fit to wake the dead, and screams tended to attract Dementors, something that could harm the baby. There was a reason why prisoners in Azkaban quickly learned to be quiet - it was a basic survival skill.

Matron Charon was sixty-three, and she'd worked in Azkaban for over forty-one years. During that time she'd done everything from patching bruises to force-feeding prisoners nutrient potions, from mending a spinal injury to ending the life of a Kissed prisoner. She hadn't done all that by being soft, and she was tempted - very tempted - to show Mrs. Lestrange why Dementors avoided her hospital wing while she was there. The fat bun of silver hair at the back of her head, and her shapeless black dress and white apron gave her a look of vulnerability that fooled her opponents until it was too late. But reducing the Death Eater to a bloody mess on the ground could harm the child, so she swallowed her pride, and concentrated on the birth.

Blood was congealing on the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed, forcing the Matron to give Bellatrix several blood-replenishing potions, the dusty glasses clinking like death chimes as she was forced to pour more and more down the Death Eater's throat. Due to inbreeding, pure-blooded women tended to have trouble with birthing. But as much as the nurse hated to admit it, Bellatrix was a fighter. She'd survive, unlike many of her unfortunate victims.

Lightning crackled in the black sky while rain lashed the hospital window panes. Bellatrix looked at the storm raging outside, admiring its lethal beauty. That was how her master was in battle, angry, powerful, unstoppable. Would their child be like that? She hoped so - the pain was too much for her to bear a cowering weakling.

Eventually, a dark head started to emerge from Bellatrix's thrashing body, followed by blood-soaked limbs. The Matron worked quickly, dragging the infant out, cutting the cord with a swift Severing charm. The baby let out a loud crystal-clear wail, letting the world know that it was alive and intended to stay so for a long time. Despite herself, the old woman smiled. There was nothing like hearing the fruit of your efforts pay off, knowing that you have successfully brought another life into the world. Taking a deep breath, she turned the child over and examined it.

The baby was a girl. An exquisitely beautiful girl with soft pink lips and shiny eyes. Her hair was black and slightly curly, like her mother. Her skin was as pale as the moon shining outside, while her eyes were dark, like polished ebony. But while the hair and eyes were definitely Bellatrix's, the rest of her clearly came from her father, whoever he was.

While she checked the infant over, the Matron noticed something odd. On the child's left shoulder was an elaborate 'S', the ends curling over, almost touching but not quite. It was almost serpentine, and she could easily have thought it to be a slender black snake if she hadn't taken a closer look. How odd. Perhaps it was her father's magical crest - it certainly did not come from the Blacks.

Bellatrix coughed weakly, and Matron Charon jumped. She'd forgotten about the Death Eater...not a wise thing to do. Shaking her head, she handed the baby to her mother. "Here you are, dear. A beautiful little girl."

"A girl?" Bellatrix whispered, taking the child gently. Her trembling hand gently stroked the baby's head, smoothing the curls down flat. "She's beautiful."

The Matron was startled. Was the depraved monster actually sounding maternal? Annoyed with herself, she pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from her desk, and poised her quill above it. "Her name?"

Bellatrix thought quickly. Every Black in her family tree had been named after a star, but she couldn't think of any she liked. Then a name popped into a head, the name of a minor planet she had studied in Astronomy. "Her name shall be...Artemis. Artemis Andromeda Riddle." Her master had told her his real name, and though she had never heard of a House of Riddle, it had to be an ancient and powerful house to have produced her master. Andromeda was the perfect middle name for her daughter.

Matron Charon jotted down the time of birth - July 31st, 1:00 AM, and looked up. "The father's name?"

Bellatrix bit her lip, and the Matron mistook her hesitation for ignorance. She put a question mark next to the Father space, and tucked away the parchment. "I'll be off then." She left to check on several other patients.

Bellatrix cradled the baby in her arms, mind whirring furiously. The woman's innocent question had suddenly revealed the dangers to her, dangers that she had not foreseen. If she had had a son, the Dark Lord might have accepted the child, but he would never allow her to keep a daughter. The child would be killed, no doubt used in some other dark ritual to accentuate the Dark Lord's power. She imagined the body of her baby, slaughtered before it could grow up. That could not happen. She had to save her.

Artemis snuggled against her mother, and Bellatrix turned her head to one side to avoid splashing her with tears. Her arm suddenly throbbed in agony, and Bellatrix resisted the urge to scream. The Dark Lord was signalling that he would rescue her soon. By her calculations, she had until midnight to come up with a plan.

At half-past eleven she knew that there was only one course available to her. And she hated it with every bone in her body.

Lily clutched at the jagged stone wall, tearing the skin off her palms. Blood dripped on the floor, but she ignored the sting, and concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

When she thought of giving birth, a dirty cell in Azkaban was not the place she had imagined the process taking place in. She wanted her child to be born in a clean hospital room, preferably with the father holding her hand, and a nurse helping her. But she had none of those things. The Prison Matron was busy with another birth, there would be no time to move her to the hospital wing even if any guards were about, and James was filing for divorce.

She dimly heard shouts, and saw brightly coloured lights that could only come from battle spells. Was Azkaban being attacked? Who would have the strength to do that? And why weren't the Dementors swooping in to repel the invaders?

If Lily had been thinking clearly, she would probably have known the answers to those questions. But the months in Azkaban had taken their toll on her, and her mind was clouded into a tangled mess. All she could really think about was getting the baby out of her.

In. Out. In. Out.

Rodolphus Lestrange examined the prison. He had flown there, along with fifty other Death Eaters, ready to free their comrades. The wards had been difficult to get through, but their ward specialist had exploited a weak spot, enabling them to slip onto the island. Their spy in the staff had reported that every week, the Dementors would leave the building to feast on a number of unfortunates sentenced to be Kissed. This was their once chance to break in. If they messed it up, the Dark Lord's wrath would be horrible, and they might not survive it.

They walked slowly up the gravel path, wincing as the stones crunched beneath their feet. The heavy double oak doors were very difficult to open, but a barrage of sickly yellow Bludgeoning Hexes soon took care of that problem.

They swished their wands carefully as they entered, making a complex pattern which melted the silver bars from each cell. Whooping gleefully, the prisoners tumbled out, looking like ragged beasts with their claw-like hands and hungry eyes. One of the Death Eaters led them off to search for wands, while Rodolphus left the group, and searched for his wife.

"Bellatrix!"

Bellatrix looked up. Her husband was standing in the hospital doorway, his matted locks falling around his face like dark seaweed. "The Dark Lord has sent us to get you and the others out, but we don't have much time! The Dementors are going to come back from feeding time any second now!"

Bellatrix clambered off the hospital bed she was lying on, wincing slightly. The birth had not been easy on her, and all she wanted to do was lie in bed for hours. But that was certainly not an option.

Rodolphus scanned the room, checking for anyone skulking in the shadows. His grey eyes caught sight of a tiny form lying in a hospital cot. "What's that?"

Bellatrix didn't glance back. "It's nothing."

She and Rodolphus darted away, dodging spells and helping their injured comrades. Almost every Death Eater had been freed, and soon they would be ready to wage war on the Ministry again. Their master would be pleased.

Back in the hospital wing, Artemis stirred, her pale face barely visible in the darkness of the unlit room. Her mouth opened and she began to cry for her mother, the hungry whimpers echoing throughout the prison, and making even the most demented prisoners wince.

Bellatrix heard her daughter's screams. She shuddered as they tore into her heart, and her resolve almost shattered. But then she steeled herself, and pressed forward with the others. If Artemis was discovered by her comrades, then the consequences would be horrific, for both Bellatrix and her child. Artemis would just have to fend for herself.

Blood covered the floor of Lily's cell, and it was soaking into her body, turning her silver hair into something close to its original colour. Lily's voice had long since gone hoarse from screaming, and all she could do now was moan softly, and pray for it to be over soon.

Eventually, at 11:59 on July 31st, Harry Potter was born into the world. His messy black hair was all over the place, and he was covered in blood, but as Lily held him in her weak arms, she could not imagine anything more beautiful. He was like a tiny James, except for his eyes. They were a deep sea-green, and reminded her of sparkling emeralds, the kind that are always securely locked away in jewellery shops.

She smiled as he lay in her arms, already asleep. She remembered reading somewhere, long ago, that babies needed a lot more sleep than adults. How strange...she felt very tired too. Her vision was darkening, and all the screaming seemed to have ceased. Lily slumped back, and looked down at her son. "Sleep well, Harry."

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and her head drooped. For a few minutes, her rasping breath filled the cell, while her chest rose and fell weakly. Then the sound faded away, leaving a dreadful silence in its wake.

Harry woke up feeling very hungry. He began to cry for attention, but nothing would answer him.

Nothing except the cries of another child five cells away.

Matron Charon stalked through the twisting halls of Azkaban, feeling both scared and relieved. The attack that had happened a few hours ago had injured many, but only two guards had died. They had tried to stop some Death Eaters from leaving, and had paid the price of their foolishness. Really, what were they expecting to achieve by taking on five Death Eaters, who were all armed and ready? No doubt they'd been sorted into Gryffindor at Hogwarts.

Shaking her head, she continued through the prison, checking on the wounded, and repairing broken masonry. While she did so her mind wandered, thinking of the baby lying in the hospital wing.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a Death Eater, but even so, the Matron couldn't understand why anyone would want to abandon their child like that. The baby would have nowhere else to go, so it would have to stay with her until a place could be found for it. With the war going on, that could take months, or even years.

Sighing, the Matron turned a corner. This was where the murderers were kept, such as Macnair, Rosier, and the infamous Lily Potter. The poor witch had lost most of her beauty, but when you looked at her, you could still see the girl she once was. It was a pity that the Ministry no longer used truth-potions on prisoners- she would dearly love to hear just what happened on the night that Lily was accused of slaughtering the Hogwarts Nurse.

Most of the cell bars had been melted into puddles of silver goo, with the prisoners they had once held now long gone. She sighed in relief when she saw that the bars on Lily's cell were still intact, and hurried forward to check on the witch. But when she reached the cell, she gasped, and a tear rolled down her check.

Blood was everywhere in the cell, on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. Lily Potter was slumped against the wall, her green eyes open and unseeing. Blood covered the cell like a thick red carpet, and she winced at the bitter-sweet smell that floated around in the air. Steeling herself, the witch opened the door and moved in. What could have happened? No one seemed to have come in, and there were no wounds on Lily's body. So what had...

Ah.

Lying against Lily was a baby. A little boy with midnight black hair and sparkly green, curious eyes. He was soaked in blood, his mother's blood, but appeared to be perfectly healthy. As she approached, he opened his mouth and began wailing hungrily.

She scooped him up and checked him over, feeling relief flood through her when she saw that he was not in any immediate danger. Swiftly casting a preserving charm on the corpse, she rushed back to the hospital, the child in her arms.

Artemis had finally gone quiet, and was now watching the Matron with curious eyes, as if she knew that another baby was in the room, and wanted to see it. Quickly, Matron Charon conjured up another cot, complete with soft blankets and a pretty mobile hanging over it. Artemis looked indignant, something that she thought newborns incapable of doing, and the guilty nurse transfigured Artemis's iron crib into something more comfortable.

She carefully held Arran at arm's length before performing a quick Scourgify. The dried blood on the baby vanished, and the messy hair looked a bit neater, but not much. Matron Charon noted his pointed ears and almond-shaped eyes, quickly recognizing that he was at least half-elf. The infant giggled happily, and waved his arms around. The Matron chuckled, and picked up her wand again. The spell she was going to use now was something often performed on abandoned babies to determine their parentage - it basically showed their memories from the moment they were born to the moment the spell was cast. It was very useful, but could only be deployed on a child under a year old - if the child was too old, the information could damage the casters brain.

She examined the information flooding from the infant to her brain, smiling sadly as she heard Lily Potter's pain-wrecked voice naming her son Arran. It was a nice name. A cheerful name.

Artemis began crying again, and the Matron reprimanded herself for not feeding the child sooner. She gently laid Arran in the cot she had conjured, and hurried to the other end of the hospital wing. Pushed against one wall was an old fashioned black stove, over sixty years of age, but polished and maintained beautifully. She stoked up the coals, and began to pour milk into a saucepan for heating. Most of the magical population would have scoffed at her for using such an ancient Muggle contraption, but she found it comforting to sit by her stove when the air turned chilly, and sip a cup of hot chocolate. It brought back good memories.

When the milk was at a comfortable temperature, she poured it into two baby bottles, and plugged the infants' hungry mouths with them, chuckling a little as Artemis began to suck at her bottle frantically, her cheeks swollen with milk. She loved children.

The small clock hanging on the far wall chimed, and the Matron quickly pulled the cots' blankets over the infants, and cast two Sleeping charms. The babies were soon fast asleep, like little angels. Little dark-haired, snow-pale angels.

Smiling, she walked into her office where her bed was, and extinguished the light that was glowing next to her bed. "Goodnight."

Soon everyone in the hospital wing was asleep, unlike the tormented souls who had failed to escape, amid were now being severely punished by the Dementors. But that didn't trouble them - the babies didn't have a clue of what was happening, and the Matron couldn't care less. To be sent to Azkaban, you had to commit VERY dark crimes, and those shrieking prisoners were just reaping what they sowed.

Just inches apart from one another, the daughter of the Dark Lord and the son of a prominent Light Wizard slept, not knowing that their parents would happily slaughter the child next to them, not knowing that throughout Azkaban, Dementors were flocking close to the hospital wing, drawn by the thick magic in the air, and not knowing that, in years to come, James Potter would look back at that day and sob his heart out.

They would know all of that later. But for now, the children of Azkaban slept.

What do you think? Please review! XD


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: I kinda messed up with Arran's Elf heritage, so in my story Halflings will have no 'Sweet Sixteen' inheritance- they will have those features and abilities from the moment they are born. And now... Onwards with the story.! XD

Brighteyes343- no, Lily died... And yes, the duo do go to Hogwarts, at the age of twelve, though.

NHunter- yes, I have lol. Keniaia gave me her permission. XD

12samanthafelix- thanks. I enjoyed reading/writing it too. And Lily dying is integral to the plot. Dumbles-bashing and all that.

Adenoide- yes, yes they are. I'm not a big Dumbledore fan.

naruchan84- they do. Thanks.

free-to-fly-2010- ALL credit goes to Keniaia. I hope you'll enjoy the whole story.!

wolfgang108- thanks. Snape is a half blood as well, and he was a death eater too. James never fully trusted Lily, due too the fact that she almost became a Slytherin, no matter how much he denied it. They do form a bond and eventually get very close. Thanks.!

Sonnenfrost- thanks. Again, ALL credit goes to Keniaia. Yeah, but I thought Arran Evans sounded better then Harry Evans. Don't you.? Yes, Lily is a High Elf. Thus, she's nothing like Petunia. That's why Petunia hates her sister- at least in my story.! Lol.

'Human language.'

*Dementor language.*

James ran a hand through his messy hair, and examined his reflection. He looked the epitome of a dashing Light Wizard, ready to charge in and save the day. Beyond the bathroom he was primping in, was the master bedroom of Potter Manor. In that lay Alice Potter, previously Alice Longbottom. Frank Longbottom had been killed in a Death Eater raid seven months ago, just before his wife found out that she was pregnant.

The baby had been born yesterday, on July 31st. James had held Alice's hand as she went through the labour pains, and when baby Neville had been born, he couldn't have been prouder if the child had been his own. He would make sure that Neville Potter-Longbottom would have everything that he could ever want, to make up for not having a true father.

He glanced up at the section of wall next to the mirror. There was a faint white square, where once a picture of Lily and him at their graduation had hung. He snarled at the empty space, and turned around. He had destroyed every picture that contained that traitorous snake. He needed no reminder of her betrayal, or the nagging feeling that it was somehow his fault.

To prevent anyone from taking the corpse to use as an Inferi (Body-snatching had become quite common with the rise of Voldemort) Dumbledore had set guards to watch over Madame Smith's corpse before burial. James had sat with the body for a while, and he had felt responsible in a twisted way. He had known that Lily had possessed a few signs of darkness, but he hadn't revealed her. Now Madame Smith was dead because of his mistake.

When he had arrived at Hogwarts, James had known that he was going to have fun. He had met Sirius Black, a prankster after his own heart, Remus Lupin, a quiet, studious boy with a good sense of humour, and Peter Pettigrew, who they'd rescued from a bunch of older bullies, and it looked to be the start of a beautiful friendship.

There were two others who had caught his attention. The first was the hook-nosed, overgrown bat who went by the name of Severus Snape. The greasy haired scumbag, obviously destined for Slytherin, had insulted both James and the Noble House of Potter, something that could not go unavenged, and so James commissioned himself to making Snape's life pure hell. But while Severus was ugly and cold, the witch that came in with him was anything but.

Lily had wavy red hair that spilled over her shoulders, like the silken hangings around his bed in Gryffindor Tower, or the flowing dresses that his mother and her friends wore. Her eyes were a dazzling emerald green, her skin was soft ivory, and her lips were a rose-pink. James had gained a crush on her as soon as she emerged from the crowd of first-years at the sound of "Evans, Lily" and sat on the rickety wooden stool, the Sorting Hat sitting jauntily on her head.

Her Sorting had taken an unusually long time, but she eventually ended up in Gryffindor. It was only later, after they had been dating for ages, that she had revealed that she was almost Sorted into Slytherin. James had almost broken it off there and then, but the fact that she had turned to Gryffindor was enough to convince him to stay. He bitterly regretted it now - she had almost been sorted into the house of dark snakes, and he had trusted her still. His foolishness had cost a life.

Lily must have been more of a Slytherin than James thought. Of course she would have turned to the Dark to save her own hide. In battle, she had never been averse to using some less than savoury curses to deal with her enemies, but he had put it down to wanting to protect innocents. Now, he realized that she had in fact wanted to prove herself to the Death Eaters, to show them that she was worthy to be branded like cattle.

But the most obvious sign was when she tried to pin the blame on Peter. Only a Death Eater would be so low as to blame their crimes on a man who wouldn't hurt a fly. That was truly disgusting, and it had been the moment when he knew that there was no way that Lily could be saved. She deserved her fate, every bit of it.

James sighed. No use crying over spilt milk. The important thing was that Lily was locked away, where she couldn't do anymore harm. The thought cheered him up a bit, and he turned back to his beauty routine.

James rubbed a hair-potion into his scalp, designed to make his famous black hair smooth and silky. Every day he performed this act, in order to maintain his dazzling good looks. Even though he was no longer single, he had to make an effort for the ladies.

Suddenly there was a tapping at the window, and he turned to see a pure white owl at the window, a black envelope clutched in its talons. James scowled. There was only one place on Earth that used white owls - Azkaban. A flock of pure white snowy owls had migrated there in the 1600s, and since then, they had become the prison's main form of communication.

He snatched the envelope away from the owl, who hooted disapprovingly before flying away into the blue morning sky. Stupid bird...

James carelessly slit open the envelope. A thin piece of parchment tumbled out, covered in neat, spiky handwriting. He picked it up, hazel eyes scanning the page.

Lord Potter

I regret to inform you that your ex-wife, Lily Evans, was found dead in her cell yesterday night. You may have heard that there was a raid on Azkaban by the followers of the Dark Lord, and therefore nobody checked upon the prisoners for some time, due to injuries sustained by our staff. During a check-up, Ms. Evans corpse was found, next to-

A smile spread across James's face. Lily was dead. The bitch was finally gone, never to trouble or hurt anyone ever again. Maybe one of her comrades had mistaken her for a guard, and shot her dead. He silently cheered for whoever was responsible.

Smirking, he screwed up the letter and tossed it into the bin before walking out of the bathroom to share the good news with Alice.

If he had only read a bit further down the letter, he would have learned just how Lily died, and the fact that he had a son. But in his joy over Lily's death, he didn't bother to read any further, thus inadvertently causing a chain of reactions that would change his happy little biased world forever.

The Matron sighed as she looked out of the window at the cloudy sky above. It had been over a month since she owled James Potter about his son, but she had received no reply. The owl had definitely got the letter to him, but he had not given her an answer as to when he wanted to pick the child up. Apparently he didn't want to know his son. By law, if a Lord of an Ancient House rejected his offspring, then they were not allowed to go near him unless he wanted them to. Such was the bigotry of purebloods who didn't like the thought of having rivals for their leadership positions around.

She turned around, and gazed sadly at the infants in the playpen. They had just learned to crawl, and were happily exploring the world, treating everything they came across as something to be puzzled over and played with. Currently, Artemis was batting around with a teddy bear that the Matron had knitted, and Arran was trying to catch a low-powered Snitch with his tiny hands. He seemed to find it amusing to catch the golden ball, look at it for a moment, then set it free. The child would be a great Seeker one day.

She reached for the baby bottles that populated the table besides the play-pen, and the babies started wailing. It was as if they knew what was coming, and wanted to make sure that they were fed first.

Matron Charon picked up Artemis, and put the thick bottle to her lips. The baby began to suck greedily at it, and as the Matron rocked her softly, she wondered what she should do.

As the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, Artemis would no doubt be very powerful, and for that reason many pure-blooded families would be seeking to get their hands on her and the Lestrange fortune. The Matron had searched Bellatrix's family records, and discovered that both Bellatrix's husband and brother-in-law were convicted Death Eaters, on the run from the law. Her sister was a Malfoy, and they had been labelled 'Suspicious' by the Ministry, so it was unlikely that they could adopt Artemis. Sirius Black, her only other living relative, had been disowned by the House of Black, and therefore unable to adopt a child from a member of it.

In short, Artemis had no one. She'd be staying at Azkaban for a long time, and it looked like Arran would be too. The thought made her blood boil. She was quite happy to look after the dear little things, but they didn't deserve to grow up in this place, with those vile Dementors and insane prisoners. If she ever saw James Potter, she'd give him a good piece of her mind about abandoning helpless children!

In the playpen, Arran started to giggle as the Snitch darted from his hands. Artemis joined in, and soon the hospital wing was filled with laughter, something pretty much unheard of in Azkaban.

The Matron looked at the smiling infants, and felt her resolve harden. If no one wanted these children, then fine. Their loss. She had always wanted grandchildren, but after her son had been killed over twenty years ago, such a thing had seemed impossible. But now she had a chance to raise children again, and she wasn't going to ruin it.

Suddenly, a cold chill seeped through the air. The Matron turned to see a Dementor hovering in the doorway, its hooded head fixed on the children.

Furious, she put down Artemis, and flapped her hands. "Get out! Shoo!"

The Dementor did not move. She gritted her teeth, and raised her wand. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A silvery lioness jumped from her wand, and growled threateningly at the dark creature. It hissed, but turned around and floated away. The Matron shook her head, frowning. The Dementors had been coming into the wing at any moment possible lately, and she was getting tired of driving them out. They could harm the children, and she had to be on red-alert at all times in case one drifted in without her noticing.

Behind the worried Matron, Arran and Artemis felt confused, wondering why she had driven away the big black thing. It had only wanted to play, and they wanted to play with it! Very puzzled, the babies fell asleep, while the Matron kept a wary eye on the doorway.

James opened his eyes blearily. What was going on? The last thing he remembered was fighting as Deaths Eaters swarmed into Potter Manor...Someone had hit him from behind...Where was he?

He blinked, and the room swam into focus. He was chained up in a dungeon, his body suspended a few inches above the slimy floor. Alice was in one corner, gagged and bound by thick black ropes. Neville was whimpering next to her, a nasty bruise on his cheek. Besides Neville was a small cauldron, a thick red liquid bubbling inside it.

"Ah. You're finally awake, Mr. Potter."

James glared at the figure standing in front of him with disgust. He had never seen the man before, but the descriptions of him were unmistakable. He was tall and thin, like a skeleton, while his skin was snow-white, without a single blemish. It stretched taunt over his skull-like face, with it's gleaming red eyes and slits for nostrils. James felt a shiver of disgust as he looked at him. What kind of dark magic would you have to practice to mutilate your body like that? "Voldemort."

The dark lord smirked, and lifted his wand. "Your tongue is not worthy to speak my name, Muggle-lover. Crucio!"

James screamed and writhed as the pain curse shot through him. It was complete agony, as if every nerve in his body had been set on fire. Voldemort laughed coldly, before turning to Neville, who stared back at him curiously. "As if this brat could one day rival me. But just to clear the prophecy, I must dispose of you. Crucio!"

Neville screamed, and Alice thrashed in her chains. "LET HIM GO, YOU MONSTER! HE'S ONLY FIVE MONTHS OLD!"

James struggled against his bindings, and Voldemort waved his wand, creating a barrier around the two to prevent them escaping. He then turned to Neville to finish him off. Little Neville had crawled over to the cauldron to escape the nasty man, and was huddling against it, utterly terrified. But the cauldron wasn't fixed down, and the weight of the rather chubby baby tipped it over, sending the liquid splashing all over the room. James and Alice were shielded by the barrier Voldemort had created, but their captor wasn't so lucky.

The potion was a nasty blend of several acids, which Voldemort had planned to torture his victims with, by forcing them to dip their bodies in it. But his weapon turned against him, as it splashed over him, swiftly dissolving the flesh and bones. Voldemort fell to the floor screaming as the acid into his body, which was weakened by many magical rituals. Soon there was nothing left of the famed dark lord but a small black puddle on the floor.

Just then, the door to the dungeon crashed open, and in came Dumbledore, followed by several Aurors. "James? Are you alright? Where's Tom?"

James, numb with relief, told the story. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes increased until it was almost blinding. He lifted up Neville, who had been protected from the acid by the cauldron, and freed Alice from her chains with a flick of his wand. "James, Alice, come with me. There are things we need to discuss."

James was reeling from the information the Headmaster had told him. A prophecy? Neville being the Chosen One? Destined to defeat Voldemort, who was not actually dead?

"You realize that, of course, Neville will need training." said Dumbledore, who was watching them closely. James puffed out his chest. "Of course we'll train him! He's the Chosen One, he needs care and attention!"

Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "I will speak to Kingsley and Alastor. I'm sure that they'll be more than happy to-"

The door to his office burst open, and an Auror came running in. "Albus, we just caught a Death Eater lurking in You-Know-Who's headquarters. I think you need to see him. You too, James."

Looking puzzled, they followed him to the Ministry, where a number of prisoners were being interviewed. The Auror led them to a holding cell, and tapped it with his wand. "Auror Jenkins, requesting an entrance to Ministry Cell 519."

"Permission granted" said a cool female voice, and the door opened. James walked into the cell, and gasped.

Peter was sitting at the table, shackled to his chair. His rat-like face was twisted in fear, and he kept glancing about, searching for a way to escape. As James and Dumbledore came in with the Auror, he squealed in terror. "James! I'm innocent! I was framed!"

"Don't try to lie, Pettigrew!" said the Auror, glaring at him. "We found the mark on your arm, and your wand showed that you have committed over ten Unforgivables in the last two hours alone! But seeing as I'm a fair man, I've brought some Veritaserum. We'll see how innocent you are now!"

He uncorked a bottle of clear liquid, and forced Peter to gag three drops of it down. When he was finished, he stepped back, and motioned at Dumbledore. "You can ask him about his crimes, sir." Normally, this wouldn't be allowed, but as Dumbledore was the Supreme Mugwump, he was allowed to question prisoners when he saw fit to do so.

"What's your name?"

"Peter Damien Pettigrew."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been a Death Eater?"

"Two years."

"How many crimes did you commit as a Death Eater?"

"I killed two Muggle women to be granted the mark. I have taken part on many raids, and killed a large number of Muggles with numerous Unforgivables. I participated in the torture of Edgar Bones, and I killed his wife, Emily Bones. I also killed Madame Smith, and framed Lily Potter for her death."

James went pale, and Dumbledore stared at Pettigrew. "Explain!"

"I was ordered to kill someone, anyone, in the castle, to prove that it wasn't as safe as you thought. I murdered Madame Smith when she met me on the third floor corridor. Lily turned up just after I killed her, and tried to stop me from escaping. I stunned her, and cast a temporary skin tattoo of the Dark Mark on her, so that you'd think she was a Death Eater, and had killed Madame Smith. It worked even better than I thought it would."

James slumped against the cell wall, stunned at the rat's betrayal. Dumbledore gave Pettigrew a look of disgust, and turned to comfort James, while the Auror discretely stunned Pettigrew with a little more force than necessary.

After a brief trial in the courtroom, Peter was sentenced to Azkaban for life, and promptly sent over there. Unfortunately, he tried to escape on the way, and was hit with over twenty stunners, after which his heart gave out. Rather than bother on a funeral, the Aurors transformed his body into fish food, and chucked it over the side.

Years passed, and the memory of Lily faded into James's mind, until he sometimes had trouble recalling that he had been married to her. But on Azkaban, she was remembered, even though it was by someone who had only met her for five minutes before she died. Matron Charon always took Arran down to his mother's grave every week, often with Artemis in tow. They would stand in silence for a few minutes, and perhaps lay some flowers down next to the tombstone. When Arran turned five, he started to go down to the grave on his own, and neither 'Aunty Charon' or Artemis followed him, knowing that Arran needed to be alone at those times.

Growing up in Azkaban had changed both Arran and Artemis. The once cheerful babies quickly turned cold and aloof, only really happy when they were either with each other, or their adopted auntie. If anyone else, whether it be a guard or a prisoner, tried to talk to them, they were met with a cold stare, and more often than not, a snide remark.

The Dementors however, were a different matter. The Ministry didn't really know much about the creatures that guarded Azkaban, only that they had been on the island long before humanity, and that of course, they were soul-sucking, memory-feasting versions of the feared Lethifold. But apart from that, they knew nothing.

One of the many things they didn't know about was that Dementors had their own type of magic, that did very funny things to a human's magic. After spending a few years in Azkaban, someone could have their magical core doubled in size, or be reduced to a Squib. Matron Charon had noticed a slight increase in her magic since she'd started to work at the prison, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so never investigated it further.

But the effect it had on two very young children was quite different from anything else seen so far. The Dementor magic seeped into their flesh, warping their magic, until it contained more Dementor magic than human magic. This meant that they had difficulty casting spells that a first-year could perform with ease, as well as making it unlikely that they would ever be chosen by a wand. But the Dementor magic had benefits as well.

It took years for wizards to master Legilimency because their magic just wasn't designed for such a thing, meaning that they had to learn to twist it until it obeyed their command. But Dementors had the natural gift of Legilimency, which was how they were able to pull memories out of their victims' minds. After a few years, Arran and Artemis began to have an uncanny knowledge of what people were thinking when they looked into their eyes, something that delighted them greatly. They also found that using their gift seemed to nourish them, like a plain but plentiful meal. Soon, the prisoners dreaded Tuesdays, when Matron Charon served the children vegetable casserole. Arran and Artemis would chuck away the food, before sneaking down to the prisoner cells to 'feed' themselves. They grew more skilful at this as the years went past, but even so, their Legilimency probes were nowhere near as strong as Albus Dumbledore or Voldemort's, and could be deflected with good Occulemency shields.

Another talent that they had picked up from the Dementors was something Arran had dubbed 'shadow-shifting.' They had an ability to melt into the shadows, cloaking themselves in darkness, unable to be detected by all but the most powerful spells. This technique had been used by Dementors since the dawn of their race, as a way to sneak up on their prey, but few used it now, as the only prey they fed on nowdays were hardly in condition to run away, so they didn't need to sneak up on them. Arran and Artemis tended to use it whenever the most dreaded time of the week came up – bath time.

But the last talent, the one that they considered to be the best, was the ability to speak the language of the Dementors. The strange words had melanchony accents to them, and had to be half-whispered, half sung in order to be comprehensible. Not only that, but the Dementors almost never answered them when they talked, fearing the humans who spoke their language. But the fact was, Arran and Artemis had a code that no other human could understand. Whenever they were plotting mischief they always spoke with Dementor words, and Aunty Charon learned quickly to be wary when she heard them speak that chilling tongue.

Despite the older Dementor's uneasiness around the children, the younger wraiths were quite happy to let them play, and soon both Arran and Artemis were more comfortable around them than they were around humans, and only Aunty Charon tied them to their own kind.

The guards at the prison noticed that there were two children running around that shouldn't be, and told the Warden about it. For two weeks, he observed Arran and Artemis, talked to Matron Charon, and interviewed the prisoners. He quickly came to the conclusion that A: His very capable Matron would leave if he tried to send them away and B: they were acting like human Dementors, saving him the trouble of bargaining with the Dementor Leaders for more of their people. Really, it wasn't hard to see how the current situation was at an advantage for him, and so he told his guards to quite simply look the other way when it came to the children. When they protested, he asked if they wanted two extra Dementors instead, quickly silencing any objections. Therefore neither the Light or Dark sides had any idea that the children existed, and the Warden planned to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Sunshine streamed through the windows of the room, lighting up the area in a way that no lamp could, making the room seem magical. It was a rather small room, but obviously the owner was well-cared for. A soft bed with a broomstick patterned blanket was pushed in one corner of the room, while an open cupboard next to it contained quite a few cuddly toys. The walls were a dingy grey while the floor was comprised of rough flags, but overall, it was a rather comfortable area. Strangely, the room was on the top floor of Azkaban, where most of the cells were dilapidated, barely capable of holding a Flobberworm. Thanks to Ministry budget-cuts, none of the cells had ever been replaced, and this floor was pretty much left alone.

It was in this abandoned area of Azkaban that Arran and Artemis slept, in individual cells that Aunty Charon had helped to make more comfortable. Despite the rooms' warm appearances, they only really came in it when it was time for bed, preferring to spend their time exploring or causing mischief, both activities in which they excelled at. They knew every inch of the island, from the tallest, oldest tower to the darkest, most cramped cellar, from the rock-pools at the front of the beach to the hundreds of graves in the ghostly cemetery at the back. Azkaban was their kingdom, and everyone in the prison with half a mind knew it.

On this particular day, nine-year-old Arran was fast asleep, head lolling on his pillow. His messy black hair framed his pale face with its strong features, while his eyelids hid his dazzling emerald irises, which had a hypnotic quality to them when he was awake, luring in all who saw him with his captivating gaze. Aunty Charon often remarked how unusual his eyes were - most of the magical population in Britain had blue or grey eyes, with the exception of the dark Blacks.

As Harry slumbered, a shadow loomed over his bed, covering him with darkness. A hand reached for his face, fingers outstretched, the nails sharp and glinting. The hand was poised above him, ready to slash downwards and hit his face...

But before it could, Arran's eyes flickered open. He rolled out of bed, smashing into the hand's owner, who let out a startled yelp as they plunged to the floor. After a brief struggle, Arran pinned the intruder down, and smirked.

"Hah! I win again, Artemis!"

The girl beneath him wriggled, a sour expression on her face. "Whatever! I win more than you do!"

"In your dreams, maybe."

"Ha! You wish!"

"I don't wish, scar-arm. I know."

Artemis stuck her tongue out at him, and shoved him off her. He grinned, running a hand through his messy hair, before switching to the Dementor tongue. "*What do you wanna do?*"

She thought for a moment, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. "*Breakfast*?"

"*Food or prisoners*?"

"*Food*."

"*Okay*."

They darted out of his room, looking around the corners as they went. The prison guards tolerated them, but that didn't mean they weren't above giving the eerie children a kick in the ribs as they passed them. Even if they went running to Aunty Charon, there wasn't much she could do to the guards. So they took their revenge at night, when the guards were sleeping. It was easy to terrify them, by imitating the sounds of a Dementor, and leaving messages scrawled in red ink across the walls. Childish, but it was fun to see the guards trembling in their rooms, eyes darting about for invisible assailants.

They reached the hospital wing safely, and quickly ducked inside. They had used to sleep in there, before they grew too big, and they still visited it every day. Aunty Charon was always happy to see them, and it was a good opportunity for breakfast.

Matron Charon turned to see the duo walk into her hospital wing, looking hopefully at the stove. She smiled, but inside she sighed at how wraith-like they were, so cold and dark. Azkaban was not a good place to raise children, but they had nowhere else to go.

"I suppose you want breakfast?" she asked. Arran and Artemis nodded in sync. "Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaase, Aunty Charon?"

Artemis copied him, her eyes looking uncommonly like a puppy's. "Pretty please with a cherry on top!"

The old woman laughed. "All right! I'll whip up some egg and bacon."

Satisfied, the children sat down, and the Matron took the opportunity to study them as she fried some eggs in a black pan. Artemis was beautiful, of that there could be no doubt. She had thick black curly hair that cascaded down her back, a result of never letting anyone near her with a pair of scissors, with eyes so dark that it was hard to tell the pupil from the irises. Her eyebrow were dark and arched, while her eyelashes were so long that they swept her cheeks. Her skin was like porcelain, smooth and delicate, contrasting sharply with her dark hair.

But if you looked closer, you could see flaws in her beauty. Artemis was painfully thin, her cheeks rather hollow, her shoulder blades jutting out under her black shirt. Shadows curved under her eyes, while on her right arm, a long, thin scar ran from her elbow to her wrist, red against the white skin. She had received it from a nervous prison guard, who had seen her coming down a hallway and fired a barrage of spells without thinking. Only the Matron's skill had kept her from losing use of the arm.

Arran also had black hair and pale skin, but his eyes were a dazzling almond-shaped emerald green, seeming to gaze into your soul when he looked at you. His eyesight had been rather poor when he was born, but the Matron had managed to take care of that with a few spells. He was taller and more sturdy that Artemis, though he was still rather thin for his age. His hair was always very messy, and no comb could tame it, though some hair charms kept it under a small amount of control. The raven locks also hid his pointed ears. Unlike Artemis, he preferred to nourish himself on human memories rather than physical food, which worried the Matron a little. She knew that if it wasn't for Artemis's taste for human food, Arran would never feed on good, wholesome food, and it seemed that every time he fed from memories, he grew more unlike a human, and further towards a strange mix between mortal and Dementor.

She shook herself free of those thoughts. It would do no good to dwell on such things. Even if Arran did forsake his humanity, at least Artemis would be along with him, as she had always been. The duo had never really seemed to need anyone but each other, and they probably wouldn't care what anyone else thought about their half-wraith, half-human state.

Even so, she knew that there was one man responsible for Arran's state, and that was James Potter. By refusing to take Arran in, he had condemned his son to turn into this cold creature, and if he didn't like it, then tough.

Three years later:

At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all was calm. Madame Pomfrey was bustling around in the hospital wing where Madame Smith had once worked, Professor McGonagall was chasing some mice in cat form, and Hagrid was tending to a hurt Bowtruckle. Eleven years had passed since the murder of Madame Smith, and the school had slowly but surely recovered.

In the Headmaster's sumptuous office, Albus examined the device that was whirring on his desk, nodding with approval. The device searched for any magic performed by children under eleven, and then scrolled out the information. This device had a range that covered every inch of Britain, and it was this that told him who was coming to Hogwarts this year.

At the top of the list was the name of Neville Potter-Longbottom, the Chosen One. Every time he heard that name, he could not help but smile, for it showed just how clever he had been. Neville was a tad arrogant, and not as powerful magically as he would have hoped, but all in all, he was shaping up to be a perfect little Gryffindor. No doubt he would help Albus with keeping down the Slytherins, and making sure that the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs toed the line.

Though he maintained a kindly grandfather image, Albus was in fact a Grand Chess Master, as Grindleward had dubbed him in their youth, and the magical world's population were his pawns, helping him to win the game, but easily discarded. To his way of thinking, there was nothing wrong with that. His father's use of dark magic had torn their family apart, and he was determined that darkness would not do the same to the wizarding world, no matter what he had to do.

As Headmaster of Hogwarts, he held a large influence on the children of the wizarding world, and he made sure that they knew, from the second they stepped into his school, just who was in charge. He turned the Light children away from the Dark children, taught them that, as long as they obeyed him they would keep out of trouble, and firmly discouraged any romances between different houses. If there were any inter-house marriages then the children would have a broader view of the world, something that he simply couldn't allow. Best nip those relationships in the bud, while he still had a chance.

Suddenly, the device began to splutter, spinning around and around, black ink spurting out of it at an alarming rate. Then, just as Albus was reaching for his wand, it exploded, covering his office with sticky black goo. Dumbledore stared at it in shock. Why on earth had it done that? Surely the charms around it should have made sure that it didn't malfunction...

Sighing, he walked over to the fire-place, ready to Floo to the Ministry, and request a Charms expert to help him cast spells to mimic the device, and hopefully find out what had caused it's destruction.

The Charms expert was unable to determine what had caused the device to explode, and so Dumbledore resigned himself to using spells to find the next generation of witches and wizards. A pity - the device had belonged to the school for decades, and was quite expensive.

The device had exploded because of it had picked up a signal of young human magic on Azkaban. But the magic had been completely entwined with Dementor magic, and the pressure of trying to figure out whether it was human or wraith had caused the device to shut down and explode.

A pity Dumbledore had not bothered to investigate the situation, for if he had, he would have been able to discover Arran and Artemis early, and perhaps salvaged the situation. But he simply assumed that the device had malfunctioned due to it's age, and left it at that.

When he did find the duo eventually, he realized what had happened to the device, and why. By then, of course, it was far too late.

Sorry about the slip-up with Arran's name. It's all fixed.! XD - Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Children of Azkaban

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

roos1414- Here it is.!

Tsukiyo69- Thank you.

Guest- Yeah, I have a job. Lol. I laughed at your review, thanks for the benefit of the doubt.! XD

Opinr- Thanks for bringing that to my attention. I've replaced Ch. 2. Thanks for your support.!

Adenoide- I don't know yet if the two will meet. Probably though.

Guest #2- Thanks for the support.!

AdonCa- Yea, I know it does. I made it that way- Manipulative Dumbles, lol. XP

Ollivander7- Thanks.!

Sakura Lisel- Yep. Opinr brought that to my attention, lmao.

Sonnenfrost- Hmmm... Food for thought. Maybe we can collaborate to get them both a wand.? And the credit about the Dementors goes to Keniaia. Lol. Cookie to you.!

Mizzrazz72- Lol. Of course he is.

Discb- It's pretty much the same except for Harry's name becoming Arran. Lol. I actually made a music playlist on my phone called Arran Evans. Lmao.

Ceti H. Black- Yea, you probably have. I adopted this from Keniaia. Sorry, but I don't want to change what she wrote to much... :/ Though, the duo antagonizing and generally causing chaos sounds fun. Don't worry- that's gonna happen. Sooner or later lol.

Sh777- Thanks.!

Arran put one foot on the crumbling window-sill, wincing as the salty wind buffeted his slim body. Next to him was Artemis, her dark eyes filled with excitement as she looked across the grey sky, which promised a storm later. They were in Widow Tower, the tallest and oldest tower in Azkaban, its name coming from the only prisoner that had ever been imprisoned there. Mother Blackworth had been an extraordinarily ugly witch, but that hadn't stopped her from marrying nineteen husbands, all who died within a few months of marrying her. Eventually, her neighbour realized that she was dosing them with love-potions, and then poisoning them once they had left her all their money in their wills.

She was sentenced to Azkaban for three hundred years, but had died after just two months. Since then, no prisoners had been housed here, and the place had fallen into disrepair. The stone floor was cracked, moss growing out of the jagged holes, the ceiling was covered in thick grey spiderwebs, and there was a hole in the pointed roof, which meant that the room got soaked every time a storm came along, which was quite often. No one knew why there had been no attempts to repair it, though the Warden could be heard muttering about budget cuts, and then hissing out the name of Cornelius Fudge.

Some prisoners told tales of Mother Blackwort'sghost haunting the tower, gleaming eyes searching for a new husband to dose and kill. But neither child was interested in an insane hag who was long dead. What they cared about was the idea that Artemis had had, an idea that could end up with them splattered across the rocks of Azkaban. Harry still wasn't sure how she'd managed to convince him, but he had agreed to do it with her, and there was no backing out now.

He leaned forward, looking at the rocky ground hundreds of feet below. If this went wrong...

Better not think about that.

Arran took a deep breath and jumped, Artemis only a second behind him. They tumbled towards the ground, and Harry gasped as he saw how quickly it was rushing up to meet them. There was only thirty feet left... Twenty... Ten... Five...

"NOW!" Artemis yelled. Arran closed his eyes, and dug deep into his inner magical core, where his Dementor side emitted from. He allowed the wraith magic to fill his body, drenching him in a cold, icy feeling.

He felt his body dissolve into the shadows, crumbling into darkness at his mental command. Artemis whooped, and he saw that she too had 'shadow-shifted'. Arran felt a sense of profound relief as they safely floated to the ground, without a single scratch. He focused his thoughts into turning back, and soon he and Artemis were sitting in front of the tower, grinning like idiots.

Eventually, Arran's sense of euphoria vanished, and he glared at Artemis. "What were you thinking?"

Artemis grinned happily, and he felt a foreboding emotion deep in his stomach. "Let's do that again!"

The four tables in the great hall rippled with black-robed students, all craning their necks to look at the thin line of first-years waiting nervously to put on the ragged Sorting Hat. This year, everyone was excited, for Neville Potter-Longbottom, the Chosen One, had come to Hogwarts, and the school was rife with whispers on which House he would be sorted into.

Eventually, the Chosen One's name was called. He strode forward proudly, with not a hint of fear in his step. Professor McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto his thick black hair, and Neville's rather plump face screwed up as he conversed with the sentient relic.

Minutes ticked by, and still the Hat did not speak. People began to shift uneasily, wondering what was taking so long. A third-year Ravenclaw whispered to her friends that the longest Sorting in history had taken over thirty minutes before the hat decided where the child would go. Neville had only been under the hat for seven, but then again, he was the Chosen One. Perhaps he would take longer.

In the end, he only took nine minutes. The hat's mouth-rip stretched into a frown. "I warn you. No matter what your parents say, you wouldn't do so well in that house." Neville grimaced, and the hat sighed. "Very well, but I warn you - you'll regret your choice later.

"Gryffindor!"

The red-and-gold house erupted into cheers, and Neville hurried to sit next to Percy Weasley, who made a big show of welcoming him to Gryffindor, unaware that the Chosen One was not listening. Neville was pondering the hat's words. What could possibly make him to regret his demand of being sorted into the lion's den? Both of his parents had been sorted in here, and they had gone on to achieve great things. And he was the Chosen One! There was no other house for him but the one that cherished courage and strength!

He decided that the hat had gone senile in its old age, and shook its words from his memory, unaware that in a few years he would look back, and curse himself for not taking its advice.

Neville turned to Ron and Hermione, feeling puffed up with false bravery. "I don't care what you say, Hermione. Snape's working for Voldemort, and he's going after the stone tonight! If I don't stop him, no one will!"

Hermione bit her lip. "I suppose..."

Ron elbowed her. "Come on, Herms! If we don't, You-Know-Who will attack everyone!" That convinced her at last, and the trio headed off to the third floor.

Neville nodded to Hermione as Ron opened the door. Looking scared, but determined, the girl raised the roughly hewn flute that Hagrid had sent Neville for Christmas to her lips, and began to play. She'd be quite good, had Hagrid's craftsmanship been a little better, but even so, they managed to lull the dog to sleep. Neville kicked it as he passed, but then scrambled for the trapdoor as it began to stir, leaving Hermione up there. The terrified girl flung the instrument into the dog's face, and then threw herself down the trapdoor. Her timing was impeccable, as Neville and Ron were now wrestling with several vines intent on strangling them.

"Don't move! It's Devil's Snare!" Neville snarled at her. "Thanks for the information, bookworm! How about telling us how to kill it!" Too frightened to notice the insult, Hermione began to think out loud. "Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare...What did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark, and it likes the damp..."

"So light a fire!" choked Ron as a vine wrapped itself around his ribcage. Hermione whipped out her wand, and fired a jet of bluebell fire at the plant, that cringed away from the boys. Breathing a sigh of relief, they moved on.

The next room was filled with hundreds of flying keys. Hermione examined the locked door to the next room. "I think that it'll be quite old-fashioned

...probably made of silver." Neville turned to Ron, and pointed to the brooms hovering in one corner. "What are you waiting for? Catch that key!"

Looking unsure, Ron mounted a broom and kicked off. He sped through the air, his head whipping from side to side. "I can't see it!"

"There!" Hermione yelled, pointing to a key with bent wings. Ron dived after it, and managed to catch it in his fist. "I got it-"

But before he could say anything else, his grip on the broom slipped, and he fell off, plummeting to the stone floor. He hit the ground with a nasty crunch, and Hermione went white. "Do you think he's okay?"

Neville looked down at the unconscious boy. "Yeah - look, he's breathing. Come on!"

They managed to get past the chest board, but it cost Neville Hermione, who was struck down by the white queen in an attempt to save Neville. The Boy-Who-Lived left her crumpled form on the chessboard, and moved into the potion room. He picked up a scroll, and frowned at the words there:

In order to move forward, you must choose carefully

For one mistake, and you will suffer unbearably

For a sip of Cauldron's nectar, choose the bottles red

But for a way behind, choose the green bottle instead

A painful demise awaits in the bottles blue

But choose the black one, and the path ahead is true

Neville stared at the seven bottles lined up in front of him - three large red bottles, two blue bottles of a similar size, a small green bottle, and an even smaller black bottle. He grimaced. If he ever got out of this, he would kill Snape for making such a hard riddle. Then again, if he got out of this, it would be by killing Snape anyway, for the greasy bat was trying to steal the Stone. He grinned to himself at the thought of getting rid of Snape, then concentrated on the riddle.

Now then...He knew that the Leaky Cauldron sold a vintage of wine called Celestial Nectar, which was probably what the riddle meant by 'Cauldron's nectar'. He wasn't sure what demise meant, but it said 'painful', so he decided to avoid the blue bottles. That just left the green bottle and the black bottle. He looked between them. Hmmm. Suddenly, the prospect of confronting Snape, a powerful wizard that terrorized him during class, didn't seem like such a good idea. He made his decision, and reached for the green bottle. But to his horror, it slipped from his fingers, and shattered over the white tiles. The potion that had been contained within the bottles vanished into a puff of green smoke, leaving no chance of Neville being able to lick it up. He groaned, then reached for the black bottle, and chugged down the foul-tasting liquid before moving through the black flames.

To his surprise, Snape wasn't there. Instead, Quirrel stood in front of the mirror. Neville gasped. "You? You're after the stone?"

Quirrel's lips twitched into a smile. "So even the dullest of brains can figure it out. Yes, boy. I will take the stone, and use it to revive my master."

A voice echoed round the chamber, cold and high, and seemingly from nowhere. "Let me sssspeak to him."

Quirrell looked worried. "Master, you are not strong enough!"

The voice spoke again. "I am strong enough for thisss."

Quirrell reached up, and slowly unwrapped his turban. Neville was too scared to move, even if he could have done anything. He watched as the purple cloth fell away, then gasped in horror as Quirrell turned around, and a face was revealed to be sticking out of his head, a face withchalk-white skin, and red eyes with cat-like slitted pupils. "Neville Longbottom-Potter. We meet again."

"B-but I d-d-defeated you!"

"Foolish boy, as if you could ever hope to be a match for me! As soon as I have the stone, I will destroy Albus Dumbledore, and display your mangled corpses for the world to see!"

Neville couldn't speak, so frozen was he in terror. The thought of his own death seemed unnatural, something twisted and disorderly. He was supposed to be the Boy-Who-Lived! Not the Boy-Who-Didn't-Live-To-See-Twelve!

But then the door to the room burst open, sending the wood slamming against the cold stone wall. Standing in the doorway was Albus Dumbledore, cold fury in every line of his ancient face. His long snowy white hair whipped around him, like some obscene halo, and his garish robes were smoking slightly. He raised his wand, and Neville slumped into unconsciousness.

Arran darted across the bronze sands of Azkaban Beach, Artemis following behind him. It was a rare sunny day, and they intended to enjoy every bit of it.

If you asked a pure-blooded wizard what treasure was, they might come up with any answer. Perhaps they will say that it is the gold in their chests, the jewels sparkling in their display cases. Perhaps they will say it is the silk robes they wear, that so many house-elves exhaust themselves over, making sure that every scrap of lace is perfect. Perhaps they will say it is the manors they own, with the graceful towers and impenetrable stone walls.

But to the two teenagers racing across the beach, treasure was something different. Treasure was the arching azure sky, that unbroken slate of perfect blue. Treasure was the golden sunbeams turning the bronze grains of sand into shards of flashing scarlet, like millions of tiny rubies. Treasure was the waves lapping gently at the shore, the sun turning the water into different shades, oak-brown, galleon-golden, sapphire-blue, onyx-black...

Arran took a deep breath and plunged into the waves. The warm water closed over his head, and he opened his eyes, watching as a new world opened up to him. Mounds of skeletal coral were twisting through the water, while fast, sharp-toothed fish darted between the tangled fronds of leathery seaweed that littered the seabed. Arran swam down further, making faces at a curious black eel-like creature that was floating by his head.

There was a splash, and he looked up to see Artemis plunging down to join him. Her long black hair floated around her head, while her dark eyes were wide as she gazed upon the sights of the underwater world. Looking at her, Arran thought that Artemis resembled the mermaid that was in one of the story-books he had read as a young child. Not like the mermaids that he had seen before, with their pallid, fish-like faces and jagged teeth. He couldn't help but wonder if the author of the mermaid story would have been quite so descriptive of her 'exquisite rainbow tail' and 'silken raven locks' if he had seen the monsters that had spawned the mermaid legend.

Arran's lungs began to cry for air, and he swam upwards, bursting through the surface with a gasp of relief. But his happiness didn't last long, as Artemis grabbed his waist and yanked him back underwater, grinning impishly as he swallowed a mouthful of salty seawater. He came up again, spluttering, before diving back down, determined to make her pay for his ducking. He dragged her back up to the surface, and began to tickle her, ignoring her frantic cries for him to stop between bouts of laughter. Eventually, Arran stopped, and Artemis clung to him, letting the waves drift them back to the shore.

When they were eventually washed back up on the beach, they huddled together, shivering as the sun was hidden by a drifting cloud. Artemis snuggled against Arran's chest, while he had his arms around her, trying to protect her from the cold that was beginning to seep through the air. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, onyx eyes meeting emerald. "I'm f-fine." But her chattering teeth betrayed her words.

Arran gently rubbed her arms, trying to generate warmth with the friction. Artemis yawned, showing her teeth, and laid her head down on his shoulder. He smiled, and leaned back, supporting her as she fell asleep against his chest.

If you asked Albus Dumbledore what he considered treasure, he might come up with any answer. He might say that it was the courage a person possessed, or their leadership skills. He might say that it was the loyalty that people have for their house. He might say that it is the strength of a united community.

But to Arran and Artemis, treasure was something different. Treasure was the person they were sitting next to. Treasure was the companion they could count on to never let them down, treasure was the only being apart from Aunty Charon that they trusted. For to them, there was nothing that they could value greater than each other.

Their companionship was the greatest treasure of all.

"Children! Where are you?"

Arran and Artemis turned to see Aunty Charon beckoning at them to come into the hospital wing. Curious, Artemis slipped inside the room, and Arran followed her, wondering what was going on.

The elderly witch was standing next to a large square object covered by a cloth. Underneath it, something was squeaking. Aunty Charon smiled at them. "Now that you're fourteen, I think you're old enough to have a pet each."

Artemis looked very excited. "What kind of pet?" Behind her, Arran rolled his eyes. He really didn't see what she was so excited about. There weren't many animals around Azkaban, and he had never been interested in the ones that were, mainly because they tended to be vicious creatures.

Aunty Charon whipped off the cloth. Artemis's eyes went very wide, and an "Awwwwwwwwwww!" escaped from her mouth. Even Arran felt his heart melt a little at the sight of the creatures within the cage.

Inside the metal cage were two adorable animals. They were the size of a guinea-pig, and had a mouse-like face, with a bushy, squirrel-like tail. Their fur coats looked very soft, and Artemis was visibly restraining herself from stroking them. "Chinchillas!"

Aunty Charon nodded. "My great-niece has two of them, which just gave birth to a litter. She couldn't find homes for these two, so she sent them to me. Do you like them?"

Artemis nodded, staring in awe at the little creatures. One was an albino, with blood-red eyes, and snow-white fur. The other had silvery grey fur, with inquisitive black eyes. Artemis turned to Arran. "Which one do you want?"

Arran frowned as he considered the animals. He really didn't see what was so exciting about getting two rather useless, albeit adorable, rodents. But he knew that Artemis was excited about them, so he put on a fake smile, and pointed to the albino.

"That one."

Artemis grinned, and picked up the other animal, cooing to it softly. Aunty Charon explained to her what she and Harry would have to do to make sure that the chinchillas lived happy, healthy lives. Artemis spent the whole lecture cuddling her new pet, and as soon as Aunty Charon stopped speaking, she patted the animal's head, and said "I'm going to call you...Misty!"

Aunty Charon smiled at her, and turned to Arran. "What are you going to call yours?"

Arran thought for a moment. What had red eyes, and white fur/hair? He wanted to make the name meaningful, but he couldn't think of anything with that description. Then he remembered Aunty Charon talking about the Death Eaters, and their Master, the one who everyone feared, with his red eyes and white, snake-like body...

He grinned mischievously. "Voldemort Jr."

Arran smirked as he walked through the halls of Azkaban, the guards scuttling out of his way. At fourteen years old, his 'dementor aura' had grown significantly, along with Artemis's. Weaker people fainted as he came near, stronger people fell to their knees, and even powerful wizards thought that their end was nigh. They couldn't turn off the aura, but they could dampen it slightly at will, though people still felt faint when they came near them.

Voldemort Jr was scampering next to him, and Arran smiled as he looked down at the animal. Far from being useless, the chinchillas had turned out to be enormously useful, in a way that Arran could never have imagined.

Unlike wizards, animals seemed to have no natural mind barriers. There was, after all, not much worth protecting in an animal's mind, and natural mental barriers had been built up as a evolutionary way of avoiding getting mind-raped. Didn't do much against powerful wizards, but they were still a form of defence.

As animals didn't have any mind barriers, Arran found that he could easily scan his pet's mind. Not only that, but as he was a very powerful dementor hybrid, he could maintain a mind-link for a short distance, allowing him to see through his pet's eyes as it explored, and give it simple mental orders to follow. That meant that he had and Artemis had their own personal spies - spies that could slip through most wards, as they were designed to keep away danger, and you could hardly call a chinchilla dangerous.

Really, the possibilities were enormous! He had discovered that the mind link range covered the entire island, meaning that he could view any part of the island from anywhere, as long as the chinchilla could reach it. And being a small, agile animal that could jump quite a height for its size, there were very few places that it couldn't get into. He could send it practically anywhere, and no one would notice it!

Suddenly, the sound of a deep, hacking cough filled the air. Arran frowned, and followed the sound, curious of its origin. To his horror, he found Aunty Charon in the hospital wing, bending over as she coughed into a white lace handkerchief. "Aunty Charon!"

The witch straightened up, and he gasped when he saw her. Her normally shining white hair was lank, her skin was pale, her eyes were sunken and she had grown very thin. He hadn't seen her in a while, but she had been perfectly healthy back then.

She smiled weakly. "Hello Arran. Don't worry. I just have a bit of a cough, that's all. I'll be fine soon." Arran wasn't so sure, but he didn't want to get into an argument with her, not when she looked so bad. He slipped away to find Artemis, and warn her of Aunty Charon's appearance so that she wouldn't be shocked when she saw the elderly witch.

Aunty Charon sighed as she gazed at the white handkerchief, now splattered with blood. She knew that it wasn't just a bit of a cough. The illness she had was a nasty one, which couldn't be cured by magic. She probably didn't have more than a few months left to live.

Sighing, the witch waved her wand, trying to make herself look a bit less like the walking dead. She would have to prepare the children for her eventual death. Hopefully, if they knew beforehand, it wouldn't come as such a blow.

Artemis sobbed into Arran's chest as they stood before a shining white gravestone. The staff had respected the Matron, and so her grave had been rather grander than the hundreds of others that filled Azkaban cemetery. It had two crossed wands carved above the name and dates, showering the words with tiny stars.

Catherine Jane Charon

1st April 1917- 13th December 1994

There was no inscription - the Warden's generosity had run out after the grave had been made, and he couldn't be bothered to order an inscription as well. Arran and Artemis didn't mind. They preferred the idea of Aunty Charon's life being preserved in their memories, not just written down in a short sentence.

Harry looked down at his crying friend, and cuddled her gently. She sniffled, and looked up at him, her dark eyes sparkling with tears. He thought of a way to cheer her up. "Wanna go feed?"

Artemis nodded tearfully, and allowed Arran to led her to the cell block where all the dangerous criminals were housed. Like all Dementors, they could suck any memory out of someone, no matter the emotion that filled the memory. But happy memories were so much sweeter than any sad memory, and the more anguish the person was in after their memories were drained, the better the taste.

They paused outside the cell of a new prisoner. It was a woman with long brown hair and hard blue eyes, which were filled with hatred. Her name was Annie Baryia, and she had once been a member of the Order of the Phoenix. But the Death Eaters had lured her to the Dark Side during the war, and once the Dark Lord fell, she had gone into hiding to escape the people who she had betrayed. But they had managed to find her, and she had been sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Annie was feeling very angry. How dare they lock her up? She, a pure-blood, had been thrown into a cell without the basic luxuries that were her right by birth, and not only that, but she was sitting between two MUDBLOODS! Urgh! It was inconceivable! When she got out of here, she would make them all pay!

She heard a whooshing sound, and looked up. The shadows outside the cell seemed to be lightening, morphing into faces, arms, legs. Within a few moments, the transformations were complete, and two teenagers stood in front of her cell. The taller one was a boy - a boy with messy black hair, pale skin, and cold, emerald green eyes that seemed strangely familiar, though she was sure she'd never met this boy before. Standing next to him was a girl, with long black hair falling past her waist, skin as white as the boy she stood beside, and dark eyes that had a strange, child-like curiosity in them, but also a fierce, predatory intelligence. Suddenly, Annie felt very, very cold, as if someone had shoved her into a heap of snow. Her teeth began to chatter, and memories began dancing through her mind, slowly at first, but gradually speeding up.

Arran grinned as he felt memories pour into him from the woman. Artemis was leaning close to her, savouring the taste as they watched memories from her childhood sweep into their minds. An elegant manor...Three dozen house-elves to act as her personal nanny...Her first broomstick ride...Getting the letter from Hogwarts...

From the minds of other prisoners, Arran and Artemis had learned about the famed school, and the subjects it taught. They knew about the world outside their home, and they had no wish to see it. Life was difficult out there, with dozens of factions trying to gain control of the world that none of them had any right to. You had to be careful about what you said, what you did, and who your friends were. In Azkaban, it was a constant struggle for survival, but at least there, they could fight on their own terms.

Suddenly, Arran caught an image from Annie's mind. A pretty woman with long red hair, a kind face, and emerald green eyes, arguing with a boy that had messy black hair, and features that looked very similar to Arran's. The image slipped away, and Arran stared at Artemis. She had seen it too, and they both agreed silently that they had to learn more.

So Arran plunged head-first into the woman's mind, searching for information. And boy, did he find it.

Annie had been a Gryffindor, and she had been in the same class as Lily Evans and James Potter. Arran learned about a woman who always fought for what she believed in, never gave in, and refused to be cowed by anyone. He learned about her ability for Charms, her skill with potions, her wish to make something of herself. Then he was drawn in deeper, and he found out about James Potter, a man who could outfly anyone, a man who was excellent at Transfiguration, so handsome, such a heartthrob, but vain and arrogant. He saw him humiliate countless people, he saw him bully a boy for loving the girl he wanted, and Arran felt disgust. But he had to learn more...

Now memories were flying by him, and he saw Annie graduate, saw her join the Order, saw James and Lily start to date, and have a shotgun wedding that Annie was a bridesmaid at... He saw them join the Order as well, saw them fight, saw Lily constantly saving James, who was too cocky in battles, always thinking that he could handle everything. Artemis pulled out of Annie's mind, her thirst sated. But Arran stayed, wanting to learn more.

Then, Annie had been lured to the Dark Side. She had been promised everything that she could have wanted, money, fame, the prospects of living in a world where she would be an elite member. She had scruples, and at first, she refused to betray her friends. But the Death Eaters knew how to manipulate someone, they knew how to push their buttons. Arran saw Annie cave to the promises, felt her dissatisfaction at not having a job as good as some of the Muggleborns, despite the fact that it was because they worked harder than her. He saw her join the Death Eaters, and saw someone else join too. A rat-like man, who had been one of James's dearest friends.

Then he learned of how Peter had framed Lily, and sent to Azkaban, and his mind roared with pain as he saw the woman who had to be his mother dragged away by Aurors to a fate she didn't deserve, while her husband looked on, uncaring. Annie found out that she had died just eight months into her sentence, and he felt like killing her when he felt her delight at the news. Then he learned of James's remarriage, learned of how Alice gave birth to Neville, who defeated the Dark Lord, of how the three were showered with fame and riches, while Lily lay in her grave because no one had cared to probe deeper, so sure they were of the word of a rat...

Arran wasn't aware of it, but he was leaning closer and closer to the bars of the cell, until his face was pressed up against it. Annie felt herself being dragged forward, but she was too lost in a sea of memories to care. Then her face was thrust forward, and her lips met Arran's.

Artemis, who had been watching this curiously, felt a fiery rage engulf her. Her instincts screamed at her to rip the woman away, to throttle her for touching Arran in a way that showed love. It was just wrong! Arran belonged to her! But she barely managed to hold herself back, and therefore was able to witness what happened next.

Arran reached the climax of Annie's memories, and from there, understood her. He knew Annie's being, what she was inside, what made her tick, what destroyed her. And as his brain accepted the knowledge, Annie's soul was gently tugged from her, and passed through her lips to Arran, who absorbed it into himself. The witch slumped back, her eyes wide and vacant. Artemis gasped. She had seen Dementors do that to many prisoners, but never had she or Arran been able to do that before. She turned to look at Arran, who was standing still, his face expressionless. "Arran?" Artemis ventured, feeling worried. "Are you alright?"

His face split into a wide grin. "*Yes*" he whispered in the dementor tongue - a tongue that suddenly seemed more natural to him than the human language. Artemis laughed in relief, and flung her arms around him, knocking him slightly off balance. She didn't know why she did that, but it felt like the right thing to do, and Arran seemed to recognize that. He put his arms around her too, and they stayed in the embrace for a minute. Then Artemis pulled back, and looked at him. "What was it like?"

Arran smirked. "Delicious." He raised a dark eyebrow, and turned to look at the prisoners in the other cells, who were all cringing back in fear. "*Want to try it*?"

Artemis smiled happily. "*Definitely*!"

Neville Longbottom had a good first three years at Hogwarts. There was a nasty incident where the younger sister of his devoted side-kick nearly brought a very dark artefact into Hogwarts - some sort of diary - but luckily, she had shown it to her father, who quickly sent it to the Ministry who got rid of it. Of course, Neville managed to wrangle some of the credit, by claiming that he told her to that, though the story fell a bit flat when it emerged that he couldn't even remember her name. Still, everyone lapped it up, and he was showered with yet more adoration.

His third year was completely normal. He lazed around in his classes, got his friend Hermione to do all his homework, and had fun making up stuff for Divination. Draco Malfoy kicked up a fuss when he nearly got his arm ripped off by a hippogriff belonging to Hagrid, a bumbling half-giant, but before his father could arrange to have it executed, the beast escaped. Neville had had a good laugh over that, not because he cared about the animal, but because he loved anything to do with Malfoy being humiliated.

But his fourth year was a disaster. It all started when his name came out of the Goblet. Neville was baffled - his first attempt to enter had resulted in him sprouting a woolly white beard, after which he decided not to try again. Never the less, he had eagerly accepted the chance, expecting cheers and applause. What he received was quite different.

Whispers and cold glances during class. 'Cheater' scrawled over his belongings. Badges declaring that he stank! It was a world that he had never experienced before, and one that was puzzling and nasty. He deserved respect! Yet all he got was the disdain that his classmates dished out to him.

However, after he had managed to make it through his first two tasks with the lowest score in Twizarding History - he managed to destroy his golden egg along with dozens of real dragon eggs when he mispronounced an Incendio spell, and he swam off in the wrong direction and returned with his hostage two hours after the time limit expired - people seemed to decide that maybe he had been punished enough, and from then on, he was ignored, except for Hermione, faithful to one of the few friends she had, and Ron, who was now seen as the unfortunate victim of Neville's incompetence, and given a lot of sympathy because of it.

Now, this was his one chance for glory. Someone had cut down Fleur Delacour - he had heard her scream - and Krum had been attacked by a Blast-Ended Skrewt, which meant that he only had to beat Cedric before winning the cup. That thought buyoed him up, and he quickened his pace. Eventually, he came to a gap between two large hedges. A sphinx was lying down, but her eyes were shut, while her hide was covered in burns. Not bothering to ask himself what could have done this to a sphinx, who had no natural predators, Neville sprinted through the gap, and grasped the glinting cup, ignoring Cedric, who was being attacked by an Acromuntula. But his elation at winning the cup didn't last long as the cup pulled him away.

He landed with a thud in a graveyard. Not thinking to draw his wand, Neville turned around, only to be flung back into a gravestone. Before he could move, someone conjured chains that securely bound him in place. He looked up to see a hooded figure ending over a cauldron. "Who are you?"

The figure straightened up, and their hood fell back, to reveal a beautiful woman with slightly crazed features. Neville cringed back as he recognized the Death Eater who had gained notoriety by escaping her Ministry holding cell ten months ago. "Bellatrix Lestrange!"

Bellatrix sneered at him. "Awww! How is ickle baby Potter? Is he upset? Don't worry, Bella will curse it better!" She raised her wand. "Crucio!"

Neville screamed. It felt as if someone was stabbing him with red-hot knives, over and over again, while ripping him apart and stamping on him with spiked boots. Bellatrix giggled, before turning back to the cauldron. She lifted something that looked like a baby, swaddled in black cloth, and gently lowered it into the cauldron. Then she turned, and pointed her wand at Neville's feet. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

The ground at Neville's feet cracked, and a trickle of dust rose into the air before dropping into the cauldron. The liquid flashed, and Bellatrix lifted a knife. She looked utterly ecstatic. "Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!" She sliced some skin off the back of her arm, and let it drop into the cauldron with a smile on her face. Then she turned to Neville, grinning evilly. "Blood of the Enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."

She plunged the dagger into Neville's arm, who screamed in agony. Bellatrix paused, relishing his screams, before holding a vial to the wound, letting the red liquid trickle inside it. She returned to the cauldron, and poured the blood in.

Smoke filled the air, making it hard to see, but Neville could just make out a tall, skeletal figure rising from the cauldron. "Robe me" it hissed, and Bellatrix did so, tugging the cloth down with a look of pleasure that sickened Neville. Then the figure stepped forward, and Neville stared into glowing red eyes. "Neville Longbottom."

Neville started to tremble and squeak, utterly terrified. Voldemort laughed coldly, and turned to Bellatrix. "Bella, your arm?"

Bellatrix thrust her arm forward, and Voldemort pressed a pale finger to the Dark Mark tattooed there. Bellatrix hissed in pain, but the deed was accomplished; dozens of figures began to pop through the air, and Neville shuddered in fear as he realized that he was looking at Voldemort's inner circle.

The Dark Lord began to talk. He spoke about his suffering, his long lonely years as a spirit, until Bellatrix found him, and did the necessary rituals to heal him. He tortured several of them as punishment for not seeking him out, then promised to reward Bellatrix for her loyalty, before promising to cause unimaginable suffering for those who had not returned when the Mark called them, or to those that were thinking of straying.

During that time, Neville managed to wriggle free of his chains. Everyone was so engrossed in what Voldemort was saying that no one bothered to pay attention to the boy as he ran towards the cup, and when they finally turned around to view the Dark Lord punish him, they found only an empty headstone.

Voldemort's screams could be heard echoing for a very long time after that.

Neville stirred. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was grabbing the cup in a desperate attempt to escape Voldemort...then everything had gone black. Where was everyone? He had to warn them!

He tried to sit up, but someone pushed him back down.

"Easy there, my boy."

Neville looked up to see Dumbledore standing next to his bed. "P-professor? Where am I?"

Dumbledore chuckled gently. "Why, you are in the hospital wing. We found you collapsed outside the maze, holding on to the cup. There is a prize-giving cemermony in just a few hours. But first" - here his smile disappeared - "I need you to tell me what happened when you took the cup."

Neville burst out his tale. He told of how the cup had transported him to the graveyard, he told of Bellatrix, the ritual, and Voldemort. Dumbledore grew more and more pale as Neville spoke. "I see. This is far worse than I thought." He stood up, and started to head out of the hospital wing. "Professor?" Neville asked uncertainly. "Where are you going?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I must explain the situation to Cornelius, and assemble the Order. It seems that another war is upon us." He left, leaving a trembling Neville to ponder what the implications of the last sentence would mean for him.

Fudge was unsure of whether to believe Dumbledore or not. On one hand, this was Dumbledore, a man who he had respected all his life, a man famous for being the 'Leader of the Light'. But on the other hand...Neville Longbottom-Potter had been coming out with several very far-fetched tales lately, which seemed to be a desperate grab for more fame. Acting on his word to declare war seemed a little bit ridiculous.

In the end, he agreed to provide Dementors to protect Hogwarts against any attacks, but wait and see if anything else happened. If not, then the Dementors would be sent back to Azkaban, and the story would slip out to the press that the Boy-Who-Lived had simply been after attention, and there was nothing to worry about.

Dumbledore wasn't happy about the Dementors, but they were the best protection Hogwarts was going to get, and they weren't likely to go over to Voldemort's side, seeing as their main feeding supply came from the imprisoned Death Eaters, and it would take Voldemort a long time to be able to offer a food source as rich as that, so he decided to take Cornelius's offer.

Arran and Artemis looked at each other. They were on the top floor of Widow Tower, and their hunt was almost at an end. Arran spoke in a low whisper. "*We have him surrounded.*"

"*True*" Artemis agreed. "*But he's both tough and smart. His intellect is superior to most humans."

"*But not to ours.*"

"*Aye. Not to ours.*"

"*Forward then?*"

"*Yes.*"

They took a deep breath, and stepped forward in pursuit of their prey - Voldemort Jr. The little critter had escaped all their traps designed to catch it to hold it still for bath time, and it refused to listen to Arran's commands, so great was it's fear of dust baths. But neither of them would be denied. Arran caught Artemis's eye, and mouthed "One, Two, Three!"

They dived forward, and pinned the albino chinchilla down. It sprang free of Arran's grip, but Artemis lunged forward, and grabbed it. She grinned shakily at Arran as they climbed to their feet. "Well. That was easier than I expected." She shook her head, and dust soared out of her hair. Arran grinned as he brushed himself down. "Yes, but now we have to-"

He stopped, staring out of the window. Artemis looked at him, feeling puzzled. "What? Arran? Arran!"

Arran pointed mutely out of the window. Artemis peered out, careful to hang on to Voldemort Jr. Her eyes widened as she saw three ships heading towards the island. "Ministry ships!"

Arran snorted. "Trouble!"

Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Children of Azkaban

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

(Arran and Artemis will be paired together, btw.)

Me- Yes, the plot thickens... LoL

Adenoide- I dunno... Do you think the Dark Lord should find out.? They might become the chieftains. I'm going to put up a poll about that, so... VOTE PLEASE,!

Tsukiyo69- Awwwwwww, you're making me blush... No, they're not. But they are going to go to Hogwarts, just a year later then most. Hmmm... I'll try. Please consider my message. XD

Penny is wise- Thanks.! XD

roos1414- Thanks.! LoL

Feahthum- Thanks... Huh, I guess I did... Its a work in progress. And I hope you enjoy this chapter.!

Sonnenfrost- Tahnks.! THey will be... LoL

Charlie0925- *blush*

discb- Yea, Neville's going to be the annoying, conceited brat... Along with Ronald Weasley and his sister. You're welcome.!

Hermione shivered as the ancient boat she was sitting in bumped into the shore of Azkaban. She was dressed in thick robes, over which she had fastened her school winter cloak, but still the chill in the air penetrated to her very bones. Sitting in the boat with her were Neville, Ron, and James Potter. In the two boats next to them were Albus Dumbledore, Alice Longbottom-Potter, Arthur Weasley, and three Aurors sent by the Ministry. Apart from one of the Aurors, all of them were in the Order of the Phoenix, for Dumbledore did not trust the Ministry. A wise choice, considering their actions to the Order in the previous years.

The boat gently bumped the shore, and Dumbledore clambered out with a wince, his joints aching a little. Old age was a harsh mistress, even for the greatest of wizards, which he certainly counted himself among. With a sigh, he straightened up, and began to head toward the fortress, the others scrambling after him. He had brought the younger members so that they could see what would be in store for them if they ever turned Dark, and make sure that they kept to the proper Light path. He was feeling a little uncomfortable at the thought of Dementors in his school - the idea of creatures that could read minds floating around Hogwarts was a little troubling - but on the other hand, the Dementors represented power, and that was something that he was keen to hang on to.

They strode up a flight of weathered stone steps that led to an enormous pair of silver doors, that throbbed with ancient magic. Words were carved in a large, bold script above the doors, and Hermione squinted up at them. After craning her neck for a bit, she managed to read it:

Are you afraid of the Dark?

You should be.

That seemed to be a rather odd message to put above a government prison, but there was no time to dwell on it, for the large doors had just swung open. Standing behind them was a tall but stooping wizard, with a short grey beard and neat salt and pepper hair, who Hermione remembered seeing in Azkaban, a History as its current Warden. His hazel eyes lit up when he saw them. "Ah! Professor Dumbledore! The Minister said you would be coming!"

Dumbledore nodded, with his typical grandfatherly smile on his wrinkled face. "Yes. I find myself in need of some of your Dementors, and Minister Fudge allowed me to come here to withdraw some."

The man's smile faded slightly. "Yes, he did mention that. I realize that the situation calls for it, but still..." He sighed. "Just make sure that you treat them with respect. They've been in a funny mood lately, and I don't want to upset them, in case they leave." He gestured at the gloomy corridor behind him. "Shall we?"

The Warden led them down flights of cells, where dozens of prisoners were contained. Some leered as they went by, some screamed, some pleaded for mercy, and others just sat there, staring emptily as the Order passed by. Of all of them, Hermione was most disturbed by the starers, as she knew that they were mere shells, only a breath away from having their souls completely lost. According to Azkaban, a History, people who spent more than five decades around the Dementors gradually began to have their souls leeched away - a slower, and more painful version of the Kiss. The book had gone on to say that many prisoners had committed suicide by whatever means possible to avoid that fate, and Hermione could not help but feel a twinge of sadness and compassion as she passed those desolate gazes.

Suddenly, a wave of freezing air swept through the area, turning everyone's breath to mist, and prompting ice to start creeping up the walls. The Warden shut his eyes tightly, and gripped his wand as a group of about six Dementors glided past. The hooded figures seemed to uninterested in the party of strangers as they swooped around the corner, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief through her chattering teeth. But then her eyes widened in horror as screams filled the air. The foul creatures were feeding on the prisoners, and from the sounds of it, extracting the most painful memories they could. Alice turned to the Warden, a frown on her face. "Can't you do something? They're torturing them!"

The Warden looked at her sternly. "Would you like to offer yourself up instead, Mrs Potter?" She glared at him, and a smirk trailed across his features. "I thought not. Dementors don't serve for free. If their access to the prisoners is restricted, then they'll turn on us. It's the same with the Children-"

He stopped abruptly, and started walking again, forcing the Order to catch up quickly. Neville grimaced as he stepped over a muddy puddle. "Doesn't anyone clean around here? I thought you had house-elves!"

The Warden glanced back. "We did. The little critters didn't last more than a week - their mental state is far more delicate than a human, and their minds snapped under the strain. Some of the Aurors sprinkle around cleaning charms occasionally, but mostly the elements do the work for us." He nodded to an open window, which had a ward stretched across it, preventing anyone from leaving through it.

They reached a tiny door, with rotting wood and rusty iron hinges. The Warden gently pushed on the door, and it opened with a horrible screech that had everyone clutching at their ears. "Sorry" he muttered. "These stairs lead to the top of Widow Tower. From there, we can send a magical summons to every Dementor on the island, and those that the Ministry assigned to your school will come." They gingerly followed him up the curving staircase, which was clearly only being supported by magic. Hermione thought about what would happen if the supply of magic that replenished the stairs was taken off, and she quickened her pace.

They reached a door at the top of the stairs, even more delerict that the first, and the Warden pushed it open. "Just through here - oh."

Hermione peered around his shoulder to see what the Warden was looking at. Her eyes widened.

Standing in front of them were two teenagers, about her own age. The first was a girl, with long curly black hair that fell almost to the back of her knees, a porcelain face with sweeping lashes, and dark piercing eyes, that made a strange old-fashioned beauty. She was staring at them curiously, as though she had never seen people like them before. The other was a boy, and Hermione felt a strange thrill run through her as she saw him, though whether it was from fear or something else, she had no idea. He had messy black hair, sharp, angular features, a tall, muscular body, and slightly slanted emerald green eyes, that burned with a fierce intensity. He was standing slightly in front of the girl, as though to protect her from them, and his stance was of a hunting cat, coiled to spring at his prey.

But as Hermione focused on his face, a similarity leaped out at her. The flashing emerald eyes, fluid cat-like movements, and almost albino pale skin were things she had never seen before. But the cloud of messy black hair and handsome features were startlingly familiar, because they were an exact copy of James Potter.

A shiver ran through the room as everyone noted the similarities. James gawked at the boy, his face paling. Those eyes. He remembered them, for who could forget those emerald orbs? But when he last saw them, they were not on this boy, but on a young women with red hair, being dragged away to this very prison. But that surely meant...

Arran and Artemis had decided to remain on the tower to observe the ships, rather than go down to view them. Neither liked the Ministry - they tried to interfere at Azkaban quite a lot, and for the duo that liked things just the way they were, this was extremely annoying. So, rather than see the smug Ministry officials, they chose to stay, and wrestle...er, hold Voldemort Jr.

Arran stared at the crowd of people getting out of the boats, a frown creasing his face. "*There's more people than usual.*"

Artemis, her arms clamped firmly around Arran's troublesome chinchilla, leaned out of the window to see for herself. After a few seconds, she nodded. "*That's odd - not many people like coming here.*" She smirked to herself - not many people around suited her fine. Apart from Arran and the chinchillas, her three constant companions in life, she had no desire for anyone else to intrude. Their knowledge of the outside world was rather patchy - they knew quite a few things from memories that they had drained, but there were also things they did not know - but from recent prisoners, they had learned that a war was beginning to rage through the country. They weren't bothered by this - as long as they could stay in Azkaban, preferably with people to feast off, they had no interest in who ran the country.

After looking at the boats for a few more minutes, they decided to go down to feed. But before they could, footsteps sounded, and the door to the tower opened, revealing the crowd that had come out of the boats, plus the Warden.

Artemis looked at them with interest. She thought she recognized the man with the long white hair, and the boy with the plump face - they were both in the memories of several people she had feasted on over the years, though she had never bothered to dig deeper in order to find out who they were. She knew that the boy had defeated some dark wizard, and the man was the Headmaster of a school, but other than that, she was clueless.

Arran had not even bothered to glance at the faces of the visitors. They were nothing to him. Instead, he looked at the Warden, checking to see if the man's thoughts held any form of punishment for getting in the way of his tour. Not that it would matter to him if he did - the old man had no hope of harming them - but it was rather a bother to stay in the shadows all the time until he left them alone.

The Warden was not thinking of punishing them, rather he was wondering why they were here. Arran was not inclined to answer him - he was notabout to admit that he and Artemis had been chasing a chinchilla up and down Azkaban for the past two hours.

But then he heard a gasp, and turned to see what was wrong. His eyes met James's.

At once, he was gripped by icy rage. It was impossible to mistake that man - the memory of him looking on blandly as his mother was dragged off was firmly imprinted into Arrans mind. James Potter, the man that had abandoned his mother, the man that had replaced her without a second thought was here! Seeing the man standing there, gawking at him, utterly helpless, was too much for the boy to take. With a snarl that sounded more animal than human, he leaped forward, ready to suck the man's soul out and not just consume it, but utterly destroy it!

Artemis had looked at James a second after Arran did, and for a moment, she didn't recognize the resemblance between the two, for James's eyes were a dull hazel, and whenever she looked at Arran, his emerald eyes were what leapt out at her. But then she began to notice the similarities, and it didn't take her long to figure out what was going on. In his blind rage, Arran did not appear to remember that, as the Warden's guest, James was off-limits to them, and if Arran slaughtered him, as she had no doubt he was intending to, the Warden would very probably try to have them chased out. They were allowed here only as long as he thought they were under control.

So she darted forward and grabbed Arrans hand before he could make contact with his father. Arran was jerked back just before he could touch James, and he let out a howl of rage. James stumbled back, looking shocked and frightened, as did the rest of the Order. Arran meanwhile was filled with anger. Ever since he had viewed James in the memories of that foul woman, he had longed for revenge against the man who, in his mind, was at least partly responsible for the death of his mother. And now, when there was a perfect opportunity to strike him down, Artemis had stopped him!

He turned to her with a snarl on his face, and she gulped as she remembered the unspoken rule between them, one that had existed as long as they were hunting partners: Don't. Touch. Arran's. Prey. If he offered her some, that was acceptable, but you never interrupted him when he was feeding. Because that was when Arran got mad.

Therefore, Artemis decided to do the sensible thing, and dissolved into the shadows, deciding to try and hide from Arran until his rage cooled off. Arran threw a hateful look at James before his body faded into the shadows as well - revenge could wait. He needed to have words with a certain dark-haired female. Voldemort Jr watched his master leave, realized that, once again, he had a chance for freedom, and scurried off. The Order stared at the place where they had stood, looking frightened and confused, with the exception of Dumbledore. He was looking at the Warden, and there was no twinkle in his eye.

"Who were they?"

Artemis skidded around the corner, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She had planned on staying submerged in shadows until Arran calmed down, but Arran had also shifted to shadow-form, and he seemed intent on chasing her down. Artemis vividly recalled Arran's furious expression when she yanked him back from James, and had decided that getting caught by him was not something she wanted to happen. And thus, the hunt was on, and not more than fifty seconds in, Artemis had already decided that she did not like being prey.

A rattling sound filled the air, and the girl spun around. But to her great relief, it was only a Dementor gliding towards her, its long black robes skimming the ground. "*Are you leaving?*"

Artemis stared at it. "*Leaving? What do you mean?*"

The Dementor extended a slimy grey hand, pointing at the direction Artemis had just fled from. "*The Warden has summoned. Many are leaving the island. I thought that perhaps you and the other were leaving as well.*"

Knowing that Arran was 'the other', Artemis shook her head. "*No, we are not leaving.*" The thought repulsed her. Azkaban was her home! How could she ever want to leave it?

The Dementor let out a rattling breath. "*I see.*" With that, it turned around and glided away. Artemis watched it go, feeling oddly lonely. The Dementors had been a constant in her life from the moment she had been born. While others had come and gone - the Warden before the current one, guards who had been reassigned, prisoners who had been released or died, and Matron Charon who was now nothing more than bones in the graveyard - the Dementors had always been around. The thought of them leaving, even if only some were going, seemed wrong.

But she didn't have time to be sentimental, Artemis reminded herself. She had to get out of the area - somewhere where there were no shadows for Arran to travel in. Arran was far better than her at shadow-shifting, and though he could stay in the shadows a lot longer than her (Three hours was her limit, Arran's was five. After that, both of them started experiencing severe nausea and dizziness as well as exhaustion that meant they couldn't shadow-shift again for hours, days if they had strained themselves badly) she was more agile than him, and he shouldn't be able to catch her if they were both in their physical forms.

"Think! What's the lightest place in Azkaban?"

The answer came to her not a second later. "The hospital ward."

After Matron Charon's death, a new nurse had been assigned, but she had quit after just a few months, not possessing Charon's nerves of steel that had helped the latter stay in the prison for over fifty years. Since then, the Ministry had decided to send a team of Healers over every three weeks to check on the prisoners, and every time they came over, they would cast charms on the hospital wing to clean it. But right now, there was no one there, meaning that Artemis was free to use it as a refuge.

Her mind made up, Artemis began sprinting down the corridor, easily finding the right direction to the hospital wing through the maze of dark passage-ways. She had spent most of her childhood racing to and fro from that place, and even if she didn't visit it much now, the path to it was permanently engraved into her memory.

Within a couple of minutes, she had arrived at the familiar white door with two golden crossed wands. Artemis vaguely recalled Matron Charon telling her that that was the sign of the Healers, and sighed. Funny how that symbol, which had seemed so welcoming when it marked the place she and Arran could always run to comfort, looked so dull and cold now that there was nothing in the ward to smile happily at them, or mess up their hair with a wrinkled hand and tell them that everything would be fine.

She pushed open the door, blinking a little at the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. This was one of the few places in Azkaban to have the luxury of glass, and even if some of the panes were worn away and brittle, they still seemed beautiful to her, with their smooth surface, and shadowy reflections of the room. Artemis leaned forward, and placed the tip of her finger against the glass. Despite the golden beams passing through it, the window was cool to the touch, and she nodded in satisfaction as she took the finger away.

Azkaban was always cold. It was a given rule, with only the small rooms of the guards and the Warden being heated. It was another constant in her life, and with Dementors leaving, she wanted to hang on to as many of them as she could.

Her hand falling back to her side, Artemis turned and looked around the room. There was nothing in here but rows of clean, empty beds. Before the Matron had died, she had often seen prisoners in those beds. But any sickness in Azkaban, even small colds, could be enough to kill you in a week maximum without immediate medical treatment, something that the Ministry Healers could rarely provide with their week-apart visits.

As she continued scanning the room, her eyes came to rest on a small dark red door with a small printed sign saying 'Private - Staff only.'. Matron Charon's old office/living-quarters, currently not in use. After all, it was for those who were dedicated enough to their craft to actually live in this 'fortress of horrors' and none of the Ministry staff seemed to be that.

For a brief moment, Artemis hesitated. The hospital wing, once a place of laughter and safety, had been turned into a cold husk of its former self. Did she want to look at one of the last remaining pieces of her adopted aunt, knowing that, in all likelihood, it had undergone the same transformation?

Yes.

Artemis crossed the room, and gently turned the pitted knob. The door swung open with a creak - something that Matron Charon would never have allowed to happen when she was alive - and Artemis cautiously stepped inside.

The room was a lot barer than she remembered. The china plates painted with scenes of beautiful places, the brightly coloured rug that she and Arran had played on, pretending that it was an island, the large silver filing cabinet, the box that contained all Matron Charon's stationary; all that had been taken away, probably sent to Matron Charon's relatives, like the great-niece that sent them Misty and Voldemort Jr.

Artemis frowned at the thought of that woman. Not because she disliked her, but because now that she thought about it, she didn't really know much about her - actually, she knew practically nothing about Matron Charon's relatives. The old woman had never said much about them, and Artemis had had no interest in anything or anyone that lay outside her home.

In fact, she didn't even know that much about Matron Charon - only that the witch had come to Azkaban to serve as the matron of the prison when she was twenty-two years old and never left. She must have been a skilled Healer to qualify at such a young age, but it was a little odd that she never actually left it - to stay in the prison for five years would be seen as extremely impressive; and Matron Charon had stayed five times as long, even though it couldn't have been very pleasant for her.

Pushing aside her confusion on why Matron Charon had stayed in Azkaban for so long, Artemis turned to look around the rest of the room. There were still a few things here that either the relatives didn't want or the guards were too lazy to remove. The ancient iron stove was still in the corner, and Artemis trailed her fingers across the top, remembering the times she and Harry had sat impatiently in front of it, waiting for the food cooking on it to be finished while Matron Charon reassured them it wouldn't be long, and would Arran please stop trying to snatch it out of the saucepan?

They didn't do that anymore. Not were their cooking skills practically nil, and they didn't have any food to cook on it in the first place, but having spent so long feeding off memories and the occasional soul, they no longer seemed to have a taste for human food. In fact, Artemis found that they seemed to get...thirsty, for the want of a better word if they didn't feed off memories, even if they did consume human food. The thought that they might no longer be able to survive without leeching off the souls of others was a disturbing one, but seeing as they had a very large supply to gorge themselves on, it wasn't something that troubled her too much.

The other large piece of furniture in the room was the slightly shabby sofa that folded out into a bed. Before they moved into the cell block on the top floor, she and Arran had shared the bed, cuddling up under Matron Charon's watchful eye. Artemis had been disappointed when she learned that she and Harry could no longer share a bed, and but the Matron told her it just wouldn't be right, and proceeded to give her something called the 'talk'.

She tugged on the sofa, and it folded out with a screeching noise that set her teeth on edge. But at least it still worked - she would hate it if yet another memento of her childhood had broken without her noticing.

Artemis sat down on it, her fingers digging into the worn fabric of the mattress. She wasn't surprised by the poor condition it was in. If it wasn't for Matron Charon's magic, this bed would have collapsed long ago.

FLASHBACK:

"I can bounce higher than you, Arran!" Artemis yelled, waving her hands around as she sprang into the air before slamming back down into the mattress. Arran rolled his eyes, but his eight year old pride wouldn't let the challenge go. "Yeah, in your dreams!" With that, he leaped into the air, managing to rise an inch above what Artemis had been able to do, and flashed his friend a cocky grin. "Beat that!"

Artemis narrowed her eyes. "Fine!"

She bent down low, hoping that her legs understood the situation and wouldn't let her down. But before she could jump, Matron Charon came into the room.

"Arran, Artemis, what are you doing? I told you to work on your sums!"

Arran glanced distastefully at the parchment that he and Artemis had been scribbling over, before flashing the old woman a winning smile. "But Aunty Charon, we know them all!"

Matron Charon remained unconvinced. "What's seven times three then?"

"Um..." Arran floundered for a second or two before coming up with the answer. "Twenty-one!"

"And what's seven times four?"

"Uh...Twenty-two?"

"No. Twenty-eight. See, you don't know all of the sums. Which is why you should be learning them instead of damaging your bed!" She pointed to the bed, which was now groaning under their weight. Arran grinned nervously, while Artemis bit her lip.

Rolling her eyes, the old woman pointed her wand at the bed, and began muttering spells to repair it. The children watched in fascination as she did so, and as soon as she was finished, Arran was clutching at her arm. "Aunty Charon, can't you teach us magic like that?"

Matron Charon shook her head. "Sorry, Arran. You're too young to learn magic, and even if you weren't, I couldn't really teach you that much. I'm not even sure you have magic."

Arran stared at her, horrified. "I...I don't have magic?"

Realizing that she'd made a mistake telling him that, Matron Charon rapidly backpedalled. "Well...You might, it just may not have shown itself yet. There are cases of some people being in their twenties or thirties when they first show signs of magic, though those are very rare and they tend to be quite weak. But even without the normal kind of magic, you and Artemis can do things that normal people can't."

Artemis's interest was piqued. "What do you mean?"

Matron Charon frowned. "Well, for one thing, normal people can't read memories like you two can, at least not without training for months if not years, and even then, they can't feed off them. And I've never heard of anyone...what did you two call it? Ah yes, 'shadow-shifting' before.

Artemis's eyes were wide. "Really?"

The old woman nodded. "Yes, as far as I know, you two are the only ones that can do it."

The two shared an evil grin. "Wicked!"

Feeling a bit nervous at the diabolical expressions on their faces, Matron Charon tried to undo the damage once again. "But you should remember, with great power comes great...oh, forget it. You two wouldn't care anyway. Now, get back to those sums."

FLASHBACK OVER

Artemis smiled ruefully. Back then, they'd been a happy, if slightly weird family. But now Aunty Charon was gone, and she only had Arran left.

Only had Arran left.

Artemis felt an icy sluice of fear in her stomach. Arran was her sole companion (Misty and Voldemort Jr didn't really count), her one friend, and she might have lost him by interfering in a fight that he had been longing for ever since he learned of his father. Losing him was not something she was prepared to go through.

She would just have to come out of the hospital wing to face him, and see if their friendship could be repaired. She could survive this encounter.

Hopefully.

Alice Potter was not feeling very happy. First of all, Moody had suggested that Neville and his friends come with them to Azkaban, so that they could get 'toughened up' by viewing the prison, which in her opinion was a bad idea - even James, a hardened Auror was looking queasy as they went through the door, and Neville had gone extremely pale, trembling all over.

She hated it when the Order pulled a stunt like this. Before Voldemort had returned, they were happy enough to leave him alone. But when the Dark Lord came back, they suddenly realized that, even though they had a weapon against him, it needed to be honed. But it was too late - Neville simply did not take his training seriously, preferring to coast on the benefits of his fame.

It hadn't always been like this. When Neville was a young child, he had been the sweetest boy she had ever seen, and quite intelligent, with an affinity for plants that she could never hope to match. But the fame he got from 'defeating' Voldemort had ruined him.

"Some call him rude and spoiled" she thought angrily. "And they're right, but they don't bother looking deeper. How can you tell a child that he is the only one capable of defeating the greatest dark wizard of all time and then expect him to value the lives of others above his own? How can you excessively praise everything he does instead of telling him how he can improve and then expect him to work at anything? And how can you expect him to cope with Auror-level training when he's just a fifteen year old boy that's been used to having everything handed to him on a silver platter?"

Never the less, Neville had wanted to go, his father spurring him on, and so she had decided to come with him to make sure he was alright. And though the walk through the prison had been extremely unpleasant, it was nothing compared to seeing that boy who looked like James try to attack her husband before dissolving into shadows. That incident had left everyone looking for answers, and they had relocated to the Warden's office to get them.

The office was a relief from the grey stone walls and freezing cells. It had a thick golden carpet, creamy walls hung with photographs and paintings, a huge mahogany desk, antique bookshelves lined up against modern filing cabinets, comfortable chairs for everyone to sit on, and best of all, a crackling fire in the hearth. But despite how comfortable she was, Alice couldn't help but feel that this opulence was not really appropriate, not when the rest of the prison was so cold and gloomy.

Dumbledore, who was sitting directly in front of the Warden's desk, leaned forward and fixed the man with his twinkling gaze. "So, my man, what can you tell me about those two youngsters? I confess, I have never seen humans, magical or not, who performed the feat they did."

The Warden sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "Where to start...They were born on this island roughly around fifteen years ago. I'm not sure of their parentage - we've got their birth certificates somewhere, but no one ever really wanted to know about them - they're scared of them, and I don't blame them. I'm not sure what they are, but they're definitely not human."

Alice frowned. "How can you say they're not human?"

He laughed quietly, and looked up at her. "Mrs Potter, you have only caught a glimpse of them. Well, let me show you the full picture. They were basically normal children until they were about four or five, but then they changed. They started having the same effect as Dementors when they came near, they seemed to be able to read minds, and they started fading in and out like you saw at the tower. The guards and prisoners were scared enough of them because of that, but then we started finding Kissed prisoners that the Dementors hadn't been near...and we realized that they were doing it."

James stared at the man, thinking of the boy upstairs. If that child really was his son...Then was he responsible for what had happened to him? Had he created him when he sent Lily to Azkaban?

"What are their names?" he blurted out. The Warden stared at him. "What?"

"You said the matron looked after them...Surely she gave them names."

The Warden nodded, looking puzzled. "The boy's called Arran and as for the girl...I'm not sure. Athena? Arty? Something along those lines."

Dumbledore smiled benevolently. "You said that you had their birth certificates. May we see them?"

The Warden frowned. "They should be somewhere in the left cabinet...I'll have a look."

He got up and began to rifle through the cabinet, while Ron Weasley looked at the elderly Headmaster with an annoyed look on his face. "Why do we need to know about them..sir?"

"They bear a close resemblance to certain acquaintances of mine" said Dumbledore with a serious expression on his face. "And I wish to find out whether my suspicions are correct."

"Ah! Here they are!" said the Warden, turning to face them with two pieces of faded parchment in his hand. Dumbledore accepted them from him, and looked down. His face turned white.

"Albus? Albus? What's wrong?" asked Arthur Weasley, looking worridly at the old man. James leaned over and looked at the certificates, scanning the names on there. He gasped.

Name: Arran Leonus Evans

Father: James Charles Potter

Mother: Lily Rose Potter-Evans

Name: Artemis Andromeda Riddle

Father: Unknown

Mother: Bellatrix Lestrange

Dumbledore looked up at the Warden, and his tone was absolutely serious. "I think they should come with us. Right now."

Arran had been surprised when Artemis stopped hiding, and instead stayed in one place where he could easily find her. Still, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, he immediately travelled through to shadows to her location, and then materialized in front of her. She looked at him with a calm expression, though he could see a hint of fear in her eyes at his angry expression.

"Arran, I'm sorry."

"You should be!" he snapped, arms folded. "You know what he did! What my mother went through because of him! And you held me back!"

"Because he was the Warden's guest! If you attacked him, then the Warden-"

Arran laughed. "The Warden couldn't have stopped me. Merlin, not even his guards could. If they tried..." He trailed off, a gleam in his eye.

Artemis knew that was true. The Warden was not a particularly powerful wizard; he wouldn't be able to fend off Arran should he chose to attack him. But this was a side of Arran she hadn't seen before - he had never been this ruthless, not even when he found a prey he particularly liked. Still, she had decided to try and mend their friendship, so she nodded. "Alright."

He stared at her, puzzled. "Alright what?"

"I don't think attacking him would be a good idea but...I'll help. If they're having a tour of Azkaban, we'll just have to wait until he lingers behind and then-"

"-we'll get him" Arran finished with a smirk on his face. "I like it."

All his anger seemed to have dissipated and Artemis felt relieved. Things had gone back to the way they were.

A pattering noise reached their ears, and the duo looked down to see Misty and Voldemort Jr, the latter seeming intent on chasing the former down. Artemis laughed, and reached down to pick up her pet. "Misty, where have you been?"

It may well have been his imagination, but Arran could have sworn that Voldemort Jr had shot Misty a look that clearly said "Tell-And-You-Die". He resolved to read the albino's mind soon, and find out what it all was about. "Artemis, let's-"

There was no warning. One minute Artemis was standing there, and the next she had crumpled as a red light slammed into her. Arran gasped. "Artem-"

Then there was a whooshing sound and he felt something connect with his chest. For a brief second Arran felt extremely dizzy. Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the floor.

The Dementors drifted towards the boats ready to take them to the mainland, moving in a perfect formation. No one looked too closely at them, not wanted to spend longer than necessary around these creatures. And so, no one noticed a figure dressed in a black cloak moving with the shadowy wraiths, its bowed head concealing its smirk as two limp figures were carried out of prison.

"Hmm. It seems the plan's moving forward. Soon, little halflings, your true purpose can be fufilled. Until then...we'll just have to see, won't we?"

Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

Children of Azkaban

Chapter 5

A/N: Ok, I know that some reviewers aren't happy with my inconsistent updates, so I just wanted you to know that I will be updating once every twelve to fourteen days. The polls are done and both will be getting wands- Arran will get a ebony wand with a Phoenix feather core soaked in Basilisk venom while Artemis will have a Rosewood wand with a Kneazle whisker core. Enjoy.!

I don't own Harry Potter.

Artemis groaned as she opened her eyes, resisting the urge to cry pitifully. Her head ached from where it had struck the floor, she felt strangely tired, and something was digging painfully into her wrist. What had happened?

Suddenly, it came back to her in a flash. The dementors, James Potter, the spells that struck them down from behind-

'Arran!'

Artemis sat up quickly, looking around. She was in a hospital wing, which was far smaller and brighter than the one in Azkaban. The beds had floral curtains to give the occupants some privacy, and the windows were open, revealing a bright blue sky above a sweeping green lawn. Artemis frowned. 'Where am I?'

The door opened, and she looked up with a start. A woman dressed in a crisp uniform was standing in the doorway, her brown hair pinned under a white cap. She beamed when she saw Artemis. "Ah! You're awake, dearie!"

Artemis stared at her, eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

The woman's smile wavered, but didn't disappear. "I'm Madame Pompfrey. Matron of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - the place you're in now."

Beneath the surface of Artemis's thoughts, memories that were not her own swirled; a storm of four houses, a ragged hat, lessons in a castle, flying through a stadium as crowds roared, and an ancient hut sitting on the grounds. But she dismissed them, deciding to focus on what was important. "Why am I here? Where's Arran?"

Madame Pompfrey shook her head. "Why, you're here for treatment! You were slightly malnourished, your teeth were in poor condition, your hair was crawling with lice-

"It was not!" Artemis said indignantly. Matron Charon had taught her to check for things like that, and she most certainly did not have lice!

"Wait, you're right. It was one of the Gryffindor first years. But never the less, you were in very poor condition, and it's no wonder. Azkaban! What's next?"

"There's nothing wrong with Azkaban." Artemis said coldly.

The woman raised an eyebrow, and it was then that Artemis decided to attack. Drawing on her magic, she prepared to shift into the shadow that stretched from her bed-

Only to collapse, her wrist feeling as if someone had put a red-hot poker to it.

Artemis yelped, and weakly looked down at her arm. Someone had put a strange bracelet around her wrist, a band of metal inscribed with various runes, which were glowing a fierce white. As she watched in disbelief, the glowing slowly subsided, until the runes looked perfectly ordinary. She also noticed for the first time what she was wearing - a loose white pair of shorts and a white shirt. In other circumstances, she would have been annoyed about someone changing her clothes for her, but now there was a more pressing matter, namely why her magic hadn't worked.

"What...was that?"

Madame Pomphrey tutted. "It's a suppression bracelet, designed to keep your magic inside your body, like a barrier between it and the real world. We normally only use it on children who have bouts of accidental magic that veer out of control, but when we checked you over, we noticed that your magic was a little...strange, for the lack of a better term, and Professor Dumbledore felt that this would be best."

Artemis gritted her teeth. There had been nothing wrong with her magic, nothing wrong with Azkaban, and these people had separated her from both of them. Not only that, but she couldn't see Arran anywhere, and from what she could tell, Pomphrey didn't know where he was either.

But why? Why had they taken them away? She needed to find out that, as well as the location of Arran very soon.

"Can you take it off?"

Pomphrey shook her head. "Only Professor Dumbledore can, as he's the one that put it on you in the first place."

Artemis contemplated this. She was stuck in a place that she only knew from stolen memories, her magic was locked away by someone she thought she vaguely recognized but didn't know where from, and she didn't have a clue where Arran was. This was looking very bad, and she needed to get out. Unfortunately, it seemed that the only way to do that would be by cooperating.

"Then when will he take it off?"

"Well, he's coming up to the castle soon, and you can ask him then, can't you?"

Artemis was beginning to feel annoyed by this woman. "I suppose..."

"Wonderful! Now then, how about we find you a bath?"

Arran stared down at his hands, a cold glare on his face. They had been shackled, a glowing chain linked by two rune-inscribed bands on his wrists, and he could actually feel his magic being forced back into him.

It felt unnatural. Unlike most people his age, he had grown up in sync with his magic, and while he did not have as much control over it as a Hogwart's student, he was a lot more comfortable with it than they would be.

The 'being able to shift into shadows and suck souls out' was pretty cool as well.

But that had all been taken from him, and he had a very good idea who by.

James looked into the cell, his eyes worried. The boy from Azkaban - Arran, he reminded himself - was sitting at a table, staring down sullenly at his wrists. James had been a little unsure about the cuffs, but Dumbledore had apparently found something rather worrying about the boy's magic, and had convinced him to let them be put on.

From the look in Dumbledore's eye, whatever he had found wasn't good. And that was only the tip of the iceberg.

His son had been growing up in Azkaban. His son, the only thing remaining of Lily, had been stalking around the prison that grown wizards trembled at for fifteen years, surrounded by insane prisoners and Dementors. It made James ill just to think of it, and his nasuea was worsened by the inescapable fact that it was all his fault.

He desperately wanted some support; someone to tell him that things were going to be alright, that his colossal blunder had not ruined any chance he had with his firstborn. Because James had looked into the boy's eyes when he sprang at him, had seen the emotions that flashed across the emerald orbs that could only come from Lily.

Pure hatred. That was the only way to describe what he had seen in those eyes. His son hated him, and James had to say that he would do the same if he was in his shoes. Lily had been a innocent woman whose only crime was to be a muggleborn in a time when those who were not pureblood were well-known to be desperate for the smallest measure of protection, even enough to grovel at the feet of those who despised them. And James had tossed her away to Azkaban on the flimsiest of evidence; because Dumbledore was suspicious, and Dumbledore was never wrong.

But that begat the question of how Arran knew about Lily in the first place. James knew that there was a cemetary on Azkaban where Lily was buried, and he supposed that the boy could have seen her grave. But how would he have known that she was his mother in the first place? Who had raised him? Who had told him about Lily?

And who the hell had put him with the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange?

When James saw the birth certificate, he could not believe his eyes. The idea of one of the most feared Death Eaters procreating was scary enough in itself, but the fact that it was Bellatrix - Bellatrix, who tortured people into insanity for fun, Bellatrix who had killed more people than he could count on both hands, Bellatrix who everyone knew was the Dark Lord's most favoured servant - was almost unbelievable. According to Sirius, Bellatrix had married Rodolphus because her parents told her to, and as far as he was aware, had never touched the man. But if she hadn't, then who was the father? Another Death Eater, probably...

Well, he would do his best to keep them seperated. They seemed close, but the girl was the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange. Who knew what insanity she had inherited from her mother?

He heard footsteps, and turned to see Dumbledore coming down the hall, dressed in robes of lurid red and orange. The headmaster had disappeared shortly after they got back from Azkaban to 'just check over something' and James hoped that he had found out whatever he needed - he really could do with Albus's advice.

"Ah, there you are, my boy. Tell me, have you spoken to him?"

James glanced helplessly at the boy inside the Ministry cell, who was still examining the magical handcuffs. "No, headmaster. I was waiting for Moody to get here - he said that we would need some Veritaserum, to check whether..."

Whether he got turned into a Death Eater by hanging around them for fifteen years. Merlin, how could I have been so stupid?

Dumbledore nodded understandingly. "Yes, I can see why. But first, there is something that I must discuss with you."

James looked at him questioningly, but the old man shook his head. "Not here. Is there someplace we can go that has a little more privacy?"

James looked over at Arran, and Dumbledore chuckled indulgently. "Don't worry, James. He'll still be here when you get back."

James nodded reluctantly, and gestured at the lift. "We can go to my office. It has several privacy wards."

"Splendid. Lead the way, dear boy."

Artemis's first impression of Hogwarts was that it was very big. It had carved stone pillars, enormous doors that looked like they had been there for thousands of years, elaborate statues, paintings that shifted and gossiped as she walked by, staircases that swung from floor to floor, and banners emblazoned with scarlet, gold, blue, bronze, yellow, black, silver and green.

She hated every stone of it.

Azkaban had been a fortress like this, but it was very different. Azkaban had long shadows that were easy to disappear in, and a black sea that had always been an adventure to swim in. Azkaban had silvery moonlight and mist that danced through the air, enveloping everything in its pearly embrace. Azkaban had cold that she had not felt, crumbling staircases that made her feel strong when they did not break beneath her, and of course, it had the Dementors, the shadowy guardians that she had always felt a kinship with. Hogwarts...Hogwarts had none of this, and it made her feel agoraphobic. She wanted to go home.

Artemis had seen no one on her journey to wherever Poppy was taken her, and had asked why. The woman had explained that it was the 'holidays', and the students were at their own homes. Artemis was glad of that. She did not like being around strangers, and indeed, the only reason why she was as comfortable as she was with Poppy was because she had grown up with a medical person as a figure of authority. But she had never actually interacted with someone her own age, and she didn't want to. The thought made her quite nervous. She had her own world, and it was not here, and she felt that fact quite keenly as she walked through the halls of Hogwarts.

Finally, they reached a small door that stood beside the statue of a confused-looking wizard, and Pomphrey smiled at Artemis. "You're in luck. Seeing as no one's here, you get to use the prefect's bathroom!"

Artemis, having no idea of what a prefect was, or why she should be lucky to use their bathroom, kept silent. Pomphrey rapped on the door. "Ephemeral."

The door swung open, and Artemis gasped.

The bathroom was enormous, easily the size of Azkaban's hospital wing. It had three enormous stained glass windows, which depicted a mermaid, smiling as she combed her hair (or at least Artemis assumed that it was a mermaid, as she had never seen one with blonde hair or a bright blue tail.) Sunk into the floor was a huge tub, surrounded by gold taps that were studded with jewels. Artemis had never seen anything so extravagant in her life. "Why do they need such a big tub? How many have a bath in it at once?"

Pomphrey nodded to a pile of unfamiliar clothes that was lying next to the tub. "We dug you up some things, as you don't have any right now. I'll be back in an hour or so. Enjoy yourself."

Artemis waited before she had gone before hesitantly walking over to the nearest tap and turning it. Instantly, bright blue foam gushed out, and Artemis stared at it in disbelief. 'Isn't water meant to come out of taps? Why would I need foam?"

She tried the others, but it was very difficult finding what she wanted. Some taps spat out rainbow-coloured bubbles, some produced bubbles that made tinkling noises when you popped them, some gushed out foams of various colours, one even produced a fine mist that quickly filled up the area. Eventually, she found a tap with scented water, and was finally able to get on with her bath.

This place was clearly very strange - and she had a feeling that it was about to get stranger.

Arran looked up as the door opened, his eyes narrowed. He had sensed someone standing outside the door, and he had a feeling that it might have been James, which he had been feeling very angry about. That man had no right to look at him, not after what he had done.

But it wasn't James. It was a very different man.

He had dark, grizzled hair that was going grey, a wooden leg that clunked against the floor, and long, thick scars that littered his face, as if it had been offered up to a child with a very large butcher knife. But that wasn't his most noticeable feature. No, that distinction belonged to the bright blue eye that sat next to a small, beady black one. The blue eye kept spinning in the socket, and Harry felt very uncomfortable as it looked at him.

"All right, laddie. Who are you?"

Arran stared at him silently, and the man grunted. "Don't talk then. Fine with me - I've got a little friend that'll get your tongue wagging."

Arran raised an eyebrow as the man pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. "What's that?"

"Oh, so the cat hasn't got your tongue, eh? This, laddie, is Veritaserum - and I've gotten permission to use it."

Arran, not having the faintest idea what Veritaserum was, kept silent. This did not deter the man, who leaned forward, offering the vial. "Drink it!"

Arran made no move to take the vial. Why should he?

The man's eyes narrowed - or at least, his black one did. The blue one merely fixed itself on him, as if daring him to move. "Listen to me, boy. We can do this the easy way - or we can do it the hard way."

Arran considered this. He was not afraid of the man - he had lived among living nightmares his whole life, and physical threats had never meant much to him. On the other hand, he was trapped in a cell, his magic bound - and someone was going to pay for that - and it seemed that cooperation would be wise.

"Fine."

The man handed him the vial, which he lifted to his lips with difficulty, due to his chain wrists. The liquid inside it had no taste as it slipped down his throat, and for a moment, he thought that he had been given water.

The scarred man sat down in front of him, eyes never leaving his face. "Alright then, laddie. What's your name?"

Arran could feel a vague mental tugging, a compulsion almost, to answer the man's question. He saw no reason to not do it, and so he went along. "Arran."

"Arran what?"

"I do not have a last name."

The man looked suspicious. "We had a healer use a paternity spell on you. According to the results, you're the son of James Potter."

At that name, Harry stiffened his eyes flashing. "He's not my father."

"Yes he is."

"No. He. Is. Not!"

The scarred man looked at him oddly for a moment. "I see. What were you doing at Azkaban?"

"It's my home."

"You're a little young to be a prisoner."

"I'm not a prisoner."

"Then what were you doing there?"

Arran rolled his eyes; didn't the man understand what he was saying? "I live there."

"No one lives at Azkaban."

"I do."

"Well, you don't anymore."

Arran glared at him. "Yes, I do!"

"Actually, you don't. Professor Dumbledore has - ah, speak of the devil."

The door opened, and Arran looked up. Standing in the doorway was one of the strangest people he had ever seen in his life. It was an old man with long white hair and a beard, which was tucked into the belt around his waist. His robes were so bright that it hurt Arran's eyes to look that them, and he had bright blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles with a gold frame.

Something stirred in Arran's mind - a weak voice that was not his own.

Dumbledore?

The old man beamed at him. "Ah, Mr Potter. I'm glad to see that you're awake-"

"My name is not Mr Potter."

Dumbledore smiled begninly. "Actually, it is. Your mother was Lily Potter -"

"No." Arran's voice was cold, but inside, he felt anger so hot that it felt like it was going to burn through his heart. How dare they call his mother Lily Potter? How dare they sully her name with that of that man, that traitor, that murderer. If James hadn't tossed Lily aside, she would have lived. Her blood was on his hands.

Dumbledore carried on smiling, though his eyes were a bit colder. "Shall I call you Mr Evans, then? It was your mother's maiden name."

Arran nodded slowly.

"Well, Mr Evans, I have to say, you gave us a nasty shock. We certainly weren't expecting you to be at Azkaban."

Arran frowned. He didn't like this man. His clothes were too bright, his voice too cheerful.

"We weren't expecting you either."

Dumbledore frowned. "You say we. Who is we?"

"Me and Artemis."

"Ah, Miss Riddle. We were quite surprised to find her as well."

Arran grunted, frowning at Artemis's name. Aunty Charon had once showed them their birth certificates, telling them sternly to not get their grubby fingers on the paper. He remembered teasing Artemis about her name, saying that it was too long, and she had retorted by calling him 'James'.

They had argued that day.

Arran's eyelids lowered as he wondered where Artemis was. In a cell like his, probably, getting interrogated like him. He wondered what she would say.

Dumbledore leaned forward, placing his wrinkled hands on the desk. "Now, Arran. What are we going to do?"

"Send me back to Azkaban?"

Dumbledore looked shocked. "No, my dear boy! We're not monsters!"

Arran raised an eyebrow. "I want to go back."

Dumbledore and the scarred man exchanged a look, before Dumbledore shook his head. "No, my dear boy. We've already found a place for you."

Arran frowned. "Where-"

The door opened again.

Hot, poisonous anger exploded out of Arran, and he stood up, glaring at James. "NO-"

Then pain exploded in his wrists, and he slumped down, unconscious again.

There were no baths in Azkaban. Matron Charon had had a huge iron one that she had filled up with water using a charm, but when she died, it had been taken away. Since then, Artemis and Arran had used the showers in the guards quarters, but the water in there was used up quickly, and it was rarely even lukewarm. To have a hot bath was a luxury that she hadn't enjoyed in a long time, but to have it in a bath bigger than her bedroom?

Bliss.

However, she couldn't fully enjoy it. Artemis had been with Arran for as long as she could remember. Even when they argued, they had never been that far away from each other - well, it was rather hard to be far away when you were on an island, but that wasn't the point - and Artemis had felt more secure in the knowledge that someone would always be there for her, no matter what.

She felt the absence of such a person keenly, and she felt quite worried over what they had done to him. Arran had been the one to attack James, so what if they had shut him up somewhere else?

Or worse?

Artemis bit her lip. She would have laughed at the thought of any prison holding Arran, were it not for these manacles, the manacles that were constantly sapping her magic. She hated them, hated them more than she could put into words, and they were the only reason she wasn't already getting out of this place. Being stuck here was bad, but being unable to use her magic forever was worse.

Currently, the girl had heaved herself onto the side of the bath, trying to drag a comb through her long, tangled hair. She had rarely brushed it in Azkaban, and the snarls were horrible, a fact that the mermaid in the window was gleefully pointing out. Artemis ignored her, and carried on with her daunting task of trying to untangle the mess. It was a quiet, calming activity (well, at least until the comb got stuck in her hair again) and it gave her time to think over things.

Where could Arran be? Why weren't they brought to the same place as each other? Why were they brought out of Azkaban at all? And what had they been doing there in the first place, if they hadn't been there to pick up prisoners?

Artemis was aware that there was some kind of conflict going on outside Azkaban. Whenever she sucked up memories from the more recent prisoners, which wasn't often as they were considered rich pickings and the Dementors were usually there first, she had experienced memories of battles, of spells flying through the air, of houses burning and people screaming. But like all of the other memories that weren't her own, they had faded to her subconsciousness, and her actual knowledge of the war was like recognizing a person from a faded photograph you had seen years ago.

Even so, the conflict had never touched Azkaban. Any hint of rebellion from the prisoners, and the Dementors would be sucking at their memories faster than you could say 'the Dark Lord has risen'. Artemis and Arran had felt secure, had felt that they wouldn't be bothered by the war at all.

Well, they wouldn't be making that mistake again.

Artemis's eyes narrowed as she tried to think of all the things they would need to do.

1. Find out where Arran was.

2. Find a way to get to him.

3. Find out where Azkaban was.

4. Get back to Azkaban.

5. Stay in shadow-shift form for as long as they could so that they wouldn't be dragged out.

That was a lot of things to do. Artemis sighed, and reached for a towel. Well, she wouldn't get them done by sitting around combing her hair.

Once she had dried herself and put on the clothes left out for her - she didn't know who had picked them, but she wouldn't ask them for help again; she did not like flashy colours like red and gold - Artemis sat on the floor of the bathroom, wondering what to do now. She hated to admit it, but she was helpless in this place. She didn't know the layout, she didn't know the area, she didn't know anyone in it. All she could do was sit around and wait for the healer to come back.

Thankfully, that didn't take long. Within five minutes, there came a knock at the door, which Artemis opened hesitantly to find Pomphrey standing behind. The healer beamed when she saw her. "Ah! You look so much better!"

Artemis didn't know if being dressed in a bright red jumper covered in gold lions counted as 'looking better', but she certainly felt clear.

Pomphrey gestured for her to come out of the bathroom, and Artemis did so warily. "Where are we going now?"

Pomphrey beamed at her. "Why, to meet your new guardian!"

Artemis stared at her, stunned. "Guardian?"

"Of course. You didn't think that you'd just be tossed back to Azkaban did you?"

In any other situation, Artemis would have pointed out that she had more than expected to return to Azkaban, she had wanted to. But she was so outraged at the idea of anyone saying that they would have the right to be her guardian, a job that had been held solely by Matron Charon until the time of her death, at which point they had no longer needed a guardian, that she was rendered speechless, and Pomphrey easily pulled her along until they reached the Great Hall, where someone was standing by the door.

"Here you are, dear."

Artemis stared at the person in front of her in horror. "No...Not them...anything but them!"

James stared down at the unconscious form of his son in dismay. "Albus, was what that really necessary?"

The elderly headmaster nodded somberly. "Alas, it was, James. The magic suppressors I placed upon him are strong, but if we are correct, then he could slip out of them with enough effort. We cannot risk him getting loose."

Alastor grunted. "Potter Manor's got thick walls. We can use that to place runes around a room, should keep the bugger from trying to escape."

James could only nod numbly, feeling the beginning of a headache gnaw at him. Despite Dumbledore's words, he didn't think that there was any danger of Arran slipping out of his manacles. Because the Potters, no matter where they grew up, had righteousness bred into them, and there was no way that Arran could be using that branch of magic, no way at all...

Dumbledore stood up, and left the room, heading for the nearest fireplace. He had some urgent business to attend to, and he also needed to see Neville very soon. It was better to be safe than sorry after all, and he could not forget what he had seen on Arran's birth certificate:

D.O.B: July 31st, 1980.

As he tossed a sprinkle of emerald green powder into the fire, the old man's lips moved, mouthing lines of a prophecy to himself that had been issued long ago, one that he was now not so sure about.

"Power that the Dark Lord knows not...born as the seventh month dies..."

Whew! That was a very difficult writer's block to overcome. I really need to start doing something about these things...anyway, please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Children of Azkaban

Chapter 6

A/N: I now have two Beta's- R. L. Ravenclaw and EndlessChains.! Yes, this is an early chapter. Hope you all enjoy it!

I don't own Harry Potter.

The war had taken its toll on many people. Living in fear, knowing that at any moment, your door could be blown apart to reveal a crowd of masked wizards who would take a malicious pleasure in slaughtering you and your family, usually torturing you beforehand, could be very draining. But so was having to get up every day and go to work where you'd be assigned a target by the Ministry, a target that you could risk your life hunting down, but were forbidden to kill unless certain people were in charge, no matter how many of your friends died trying to bring him down.

Sirius got through it as best as he could. True, he still had nightmares sometimes and yes, he hadn't been able to get rid of the fear coursing through him when Dumbledore announced that Voldemort returned. He'd also never been able to bring himself to start a family of his own, because of the nagging fear that they'd turn out like the rest of the Blacks; crazy, devoted to Voldemort, and pureblood maniacs.

But still, he thought he coped pretty well and pleased with the way his life turned out. So, when he received that letter from Dumbledore, it had completely torn apart the comfortable, little life he built up for himself and Sirius Black was not pleased about it at all.

"I can't look after a kid, Dumbledore! Merlin, I think we all agree I can barely take care of myself, let alone a teenager! Especially her kid!"

Dumbledore leaned back, regarding the irate Black calmly. "Sirius, I do not think you understand. This... child is part of your family. You are her only living relative left who is on the side of the Light. If you don't take her in, the consequences could be... severe."

Sirius squinted at him suspiciously, his fingers splayed out on the arms of his chair. "What do you mean? What's the worst that could happen?"

Dumbledore sighed, wondering how much he could reveal without damaging the long-term goals of the Greater Good. After all, it wouldn't do at all for the ordinary people to learn all that he discovered about those strange creatures that they pulled out of Azkaban...especially if they had been using what he suspected they had been using.

Really, if he knew that such precious resources were lying in Azkaban, he'd have gone over there and taken them long ago! An heir to the Potter line, and the Black line...a pair of young magicals, with powers that could be put to good use in Hogwarts...the possibility of the line of Slytherin being continued, though he couldn't say that for sure until he ran a few tests on the young girl. After all, it was perfectly possible that Bellatrix had merely learned Voldemort's true name (she was one of the Dark Lord's most trusted Death Eaters after all) and decided to grace her offspring with it.

"I am afraid, Sirius, that I cannot tell you. Since Voldemort returned, there are certain areas of knowledge that I would rather remain obscure, and if this is truly what I fear..."

Sirius nodded, accepting that. It was a very common practice for Death Eaters to torture victims of importance for information before killing them, or cramming veritserum down their throats, both of which caused havoc for the Light when an auror or someone of similar status was struck down. So, Dumbledore's refusal to disclose information to his followers except at the most desperate times did not sound manipulative at all. In fact, it actually sounded quite sensible.

A pity he did not mean it to be so. Dumbledore rather liked being thought of as all-knowing, and he simply did not look like that when everyone else knew the same information he did.

However, that thought didn't cross Sirius's mind. Instead, Black simply rose to his feet and nodded, albeit rather sulkily. "All right, all right. Where is she?"

Artemis stared at the man in front of her, feeling disgust well up inside her. This was the man she was related to? This was Sirius Black, the person responsible for putting quite a few of the prisoners in Azkaban? She supposed that she should have expected someone like him to be a follower of Dumbledore, but it still rankled her that she was to be placed under his 'care.'

She had heard about Sirius Black, about how he was famous for breaking off from his power-crazed family, and that he supported muggleborns and half-bloods while the insane Blacks decried them. She could respect him for that, a soul was a soul, and 'purebloods' tasted no better than their muggleborn counterparts. However, his blatant dislike of everyone from Slytherin and those he perceived to be dark, irritated her. Did he truly think that there were no Gryffindors in Azkaban?

Probably.

The Blacks were rotten to the core and though Sirius might agree to that statement, that didn't mean he wasn't part of it, just in a different way. They were a true Dark family... and she was going to be housed by them? Left to their mercy? If this didn't scream that someone out here had it in for her, then Artemis would Kiss Arran.

The nurse let go of her arm, and smiled warmly at Black, who gave a charming grin of his own. "Poppy! It's good to see you!"

Poppy laughed, and gave Artemis a gentle push forward. The teenager stayed where she was, glaring at Black, whose gaze turned cold as he examined her, clearly finding her wanting.

The feeling was mutual.

Black could be called handsome, with thick black hair and smoldering grey eyes, but they were filled with disdain as he looked at her, an emotion that was whole-heartedly reciprocated on Artemis's part. He looked strong and fit, just as an Auror should, but he kept fingering the wand in his spare holster, as if he wanted to take it out and start firing off curses. Artemis clenched her fists, wishing that she could just snap the manacles off and start draining him dry. It would teach both him and the headmaster why they shouldn't go around kidnapping people for no good reason!

"So...she's my new house guest?"

Poppy nodded, still smiling at him, as if she couldn't see the disgusted look he was aiming at his relative. "I'm sure you two will get along fine, Sirius. Now, I suppose you'd better get going. We're locking the gates at six."

Black nodded, and reached out to try and grab her arm. Artemis jerked back. "I can walk on my own!"

Black hissed in annoyance. "Fine, but if you make any funny moves, I'll stun you and just drag you along. Understand?"

"I won't..." Artemis muttered. 'Not until I get these manacles off, anyway.'

Nodding, Black gestured at the stairs. "Then let's go."

It was chilly outside, and Black quickly cast a warming charm on himself, grudgingly followed by one on her. Artemis ignored this small gesture of kindness in favor of craning her neck, looking around. In spite of herself, she was impressed; the majestic grounds with the tangled forest at the edges achieved what the magnificent halls of Hogwarts failed to do. The landscape was a lot different than the rocky island of Azkaban, and though no one would ever catch her saying that Hogwarts was better, she could admit that it was quite beautiful in its own way.

"So, what's your name?"

Artemis blinked at the question. "What?"

Sirius huffed, and for a moment, Artemis could easily glimpse what he would have been like as a child. Despite herself, she felt a little sorry for him. If there really was a war brewing on the horizon, then the likelihood of him dying was high. He was a blood traitor and an auror, and thus a high-profile target. There were plenty of sadistic Death Eaters who had escaped at the mass break-out years earlier. The Lestranges in particular were said to be incredibly violent with their captives.

Didn't mean she had to like him though.

"I can't keep on calling you girl, you know."

"I don't mind," Artemis shrugged. And it was true. Her name was something that only two people had ever called her, both of whom were close to her. Black was miles and miles away from how closely she treasure or treasured them, so she didn't see why he felt he should start calling her by it.

"Do you even have a name?"

Artemis's head jerked up. "Of course I do!" She felt quite offended - did he think that she and Arran were animals without any form of identity?

"Then what is it?"

Artemis shrugged, folding her arms. "It's Artemis, but my surname's Riddle." It felt odd, hearing her second name out loud because apart from a quick look at her birth certificate, she never really thought about it. Her family left her to die in Azkaban so she wanted nothing to do with them. But names seemed important out here, so she thought she might as well get used to it until she could get back to the island.

Black's face turned the color of old porridge. "What?"

Artemis gave him a disturbed look. "My name's Artemis Riddle."

Black seemed to skitter back with his hand on his wand. Artemis stiffened, her magic straining at the barrier placed on it. Mentally, she ran through a few quick scenarios. If Black were to start firing spells, she should be able to duck under the first few. There was a lake only a few feet away and she could hold her breath for a long time. All she needed to do was get there and start swimming downwards as fast she could.

But instead of starting a string of spells, Black merely shook his head, though his wand stayed trained on her. "Come on. We need to get out of here."

Suspicious, but unwilling to find out if he would start attacking her if she refused to act, Artemis followed him down the path leading up to the huge gates. They swung open as the duo neared them, and Artemis wondered idly if they would do the same if someone approached from the other side. Probably not. They wouldn't be very good at guarding if they did.

The air was noticeably colder as they stepped outside the gates and Artemis shivered in spite of herself. Suddenly, Black leaned over and grabbed her arm. She swung around immediately, preparing to give him a good shove to get him off her, only to yelp as she was suddenly pulled into blackness.

Arran glared viciously around the room he was shoved in. As a citizen of Azkaban, he recognized the need for subtlety and so he arranged his tastes accordingly. Soft grays and blacks had been the norm, and he grew used to being quite stealthy, being practically noiseless as he slipped through the shadowy halls. Everyone in Azkaban did it, even Aunty Charon, Merlin rest her soul, had donned only dark clothes and kept her wand where she could see it at all times.

And so, waking up in this room had been...disorientating to say in the least.

Scarlet wallpaper emblazoned with golden lions, tiny models of Quidditch players that zoomed about in the air, chucking plastic balls the size of peanuts to each other, and an enormous four-poster bed, with enough pillows to furnish every cell in Azkaban covered the room. Crumpled pieces of parchment with nonsense inked all over them, along with a few scattered quills covered the desk and the surrounding floor. There were a few robes slung carelessly over the furniture and of course, several glossy Boy-Who-Lived posters, with the teenager himself waving and grinning cheekily from within its frame.

This room, once a spare bedroom for Neville (Harry didn't know that particular piece of information, but then again it would probably only infuriate him further if he did), had been converted into a prison. Wards were layered around every wall, the windows were charmed against shattering or opening, the door could be turned transparent if someone wanted to view Arran without the danger of actually being in the same room as him, and the suppressors placed on his magic had been turned up to near maximum power.

To a normal witch or wizard, this was uncomfortable. To a creature like Arran, whose magic was so entwined with his life that losing it was like losing a limb, it bordered on excruciating. He spent most of his time sitting on the bed, trying to pry them off, but it was to no avail. The God-awful things seemed to be glued to his wrists, and no amount of tugging would get them off.

That didn't mean that he hadn't tried though. Every day, he would slam his manacles into anything that looked remotely hard enough to break them, channel magic to his wrists where they would be sucked away until he was slumped against his bed in exhaustion, he scanned every aspect of the room for possible weaknesses, he stared angrily into the eyes of his visitors until they backed away in fear, and he ignored any and all who tried to speak to him.

To put it bluntly, Arran was sulking.

Well, he couldn't help it! He was locked up, treated like an animal...like a prisoner. In Azkaban, Arran had been king. Everyone feared him, even the Dementors avoided him and Artemis when they could. He only needed Aunty Charon and Artemis at the beginning of his life, and when the former passed on, though he felt sadness, he found himself quite satisfied with living with Artemis on his own, and he assumed that it would never change.

The fact that he was wrong left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He was arrogant with his thoughts on the wizards; he could see that now. But still, it hadn't been a fair fight. He was caught in the back, unaware that anyone was after him and whoever attacked him had clearly been powerful. Both he and Artemis had resistance to human magic, and the two consecutive stunners that knocked them both out clearly came from quite a powerful wizard . He was still confident in his own abilities regarding them in a straight fight, and he wanted to put that to the test...urgently, because he couldn't remain in his current state for much longer.

Artemis had been his constant companion for his entire life, and yet never once had Arran really thought about what her absence would do to him. She had been his best friend, someone to joke with, someone to show off to, someone to tease and be teased by. Occasionally, they had fought, and Artemis started to back down whenever they got into serious fights because Arran's magic would start convalescing in the air around them when he got too angry - and even he couldn't bear it for long, never mind Artemis. However, that was far from saying that she was submissive. She would always get him back in some form, and it was often in a quite humiliating manner. Thankfully, they sworn an oath to never let the events of their ninth birthday party be mentioned again.

She was his friend... and he missed her. He missed her more than he could express because he had never had to deal with her going before. What the wizards had done was unforgivable, and he would exact an excruciating vengeance in some way when he got free if they harmed her in any way whatsoever.

But there was another reason Arran was so desperate to get out; his thirst.

In Azkaban, hunger had never been an issue for him. Aunty Charon was only too pleased to pile his plate with food, and when he tired of that, the prisoners offered a banquet far richer. Scores of memories, the taste rich and potent, offered him glimpses of a world that he never wanted to see for himself, but was never the less curious about. Quidditch, spells, food, clothing, languages, relationships, schooling, journeys... Arran experienced all of that and more through the eyes of others, but he didn't really retain what he 'saw', the memories just faded into his psyche until he remembered as much about them as he did from his toddler years. The concepts remained, but the experience didn't.

However, though he was always eager to sample them, his need for memories had never really been an issue, because he had always been able to satisfy it before it got anywhere near to pressing. But it had been several days since he had 'eaten', and that need was making itself known. His throat was burning, but it was much worse than physical thirst. Every atom of him was screaming for him to consume something, anything, to soothe it, but there was nothing to eat but the ordinary food that always appeared on the scratched desk at mealtimes. Arran had, in desperation, tried to eat that, but it did nothing to help.

He was starving to death, and he didn't know how long he had left. He needed to get out before it was too late.

Tonks cursed as she tumbled out of the fireplace, scattering soot everywhere. Even at the best of times, she wasn't good at any form of magical travel, thanks to her legendary clumsiness, but the matter had been made all the worse because of the fact that she was carrying an awkwardly large object that was difficult to carry, never mind transport through the Floo.

Inside the large silver cage, the two chinchillas squeaked angrily, their beady eyes fixed on her. Tonks made a face back at them. They had been recovered from Azkaban by the warden, who had all but begged the Order to take them off his hands, saying that they belonged to the children they had taken out of there. When she first picked them up from the Ministry, she had been unable to see why he wanted to get rid of them. They actually looked rather cute.

Then they displayed their true colors. They snapped at her fingers, they made horrible screeching noises whenever the cage was lifted, and they stared at her with eyes that seemed unnervingly aware for a pair of rodents. Not to mention the fact that one of them had red eyes; it might seem silly, but Tonks's body was adjusted to experiencing mind-numbing fear whenever she looked into eyes of that color, and it was difficult to shake off, even if the owner was a pint-sized rodent.

Ah well, they weren't her problem anymore. Carefully, she set the cage down on the floor. The Potters would know what to do with them... her shift was over, and all she wanted to do now was curl up in bed and sleep for a week. James knew the animals were coming, he could deal with them now.

Satisfied that she had done her duty, Tonks stepped back into the fireplace, some of the specially charmed Floo powder in her hands ( without it, you couldn't access the Potters' Floo at all). She was so busy shouting out her destination, she didn't notice that the chinchillas had gone utterly still within their cages, or that their eyes had now changed into a dark, eerie green.

Artemis was being crushed. Bands of steel were tightening around her chest, her head was being gripped by a vice, and her eyeballs were being popped out of their sockets by the pressure. She couldn't breathe or speak, her vision was darkening. Frantically, she shoved against the blackness, trying to break free-

And then suddenly she was on the ground, her limbs splayed out in a most undignified fashion as she sprawled over the pavement. Sirius looked down at her, the expression on his face part exasperated, part amused. Artemis glared up at him, scrambling to her feet. "What did you do to me?"

Sirius shrugged. "It was only a Side-along Apparation. Don't tell me you've never heard of it?"

Artemis scowled. Of course she'd heard of it - while sifting through the memories of prisoners who hadn't used it in months, in some cases, years. She had paid little heed to it, as she did to most things outside Azkaban - after all, why would she be interested in Apparation when there were wards to prevent it, and she had the far more sinister looking shadow shifting at her disposal?

Bending down, Sirius offered her a hand, but she shook it off with a look of loathing and clambered awkwardly to her feet. She didn't need help, not from him, or anyone else in this horrible world. She was fine on her own...and with Arran.

Why couldn't these people see that?

Azkaban was certainly better than this place. She and Sirius were standing in front of a row of houses, the tall buildings casting long shadows that Artemis bitterly remembered would offer her no safety, not with the horrible manacles on her wrists. Artemis had no experience in any architecture outside the fortress of Azkaban, but even so, she couldn't see why anyone would want to live there. The unappealing brick walls of the houses were dark and grimy, something that should have been familiar but wasn't, and most of the windows were covered by dark curtains that didn't seem to be letting any light at all. The only window she could see through had a large man sitting in a chair, staring vacantly at something.

Was this where she was going to be living? Azkaban was hardly worse than this, why couldn't they have left her there?

Suddenly, Sirius thrust a piece of paper into her hands. Artemis stared at it, confused. Written on the parchment in an untidy scrawl was the words 'The Black residence may be found at 12 Grimmauld Place.'

"Wh-"

Suddenly, a rumbling noise filled the air, the ground seeming to shake beneath their feet. Artemis gritted her teeth, she wouldn't fall over, she wouldn't show weakness to the likes of Sirius Black again, and steadied herself, noting that the large man didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong, even when his house juddered to the left.

Blinking, Artemis realized that a house seemed to be pushing itself out through between Number 11 and Number 13, shoving them aside as it grew. It appeared to be somewhat grander than the others on the street, but it still had a grim air to it. Artemis turned to Sirius, a questioning frown on her face. "You live here?"

Sirius scowled, and Artemis got the impression that she said the wrong thing. "No."

"Then why are we here?"

"Because you need a place to stay, and my place is too small for the two of us. Now, come on, we haven't got all day."

Artemis stared at him, her eyes narrowed. She really didn't like the idea of going into this place. It might look a little bit like Azkaban (the latter being far superior, in Artemis's mind at least) but it had none of the feelings that she came to associate with the prison. There was no Arran, no Dementors, no hospital wing, no shore. It wasn't home.

But she had to play along, for now at least. She would get herself out of this, she vowed silently. She might not know much about the outside world, but she did know how to fight, and she knew that Arran was out there somewhere as well. He would not just sit back and take this either. She knew that he would probably be plotting to escape as well, and Artemis had no intention of being a helpless damsel for him to rescue. They both had to find their own way out, and if it meant being obedient for a while...well, she could cope with that.

Not that she wouldn't unleash an instant, deadly vengeance on those who dared separate them as soon as she was able. She would simply bide her time instead.

And so, instead of arguing more, she followed Sirius up the stairs, waiting impatiently as he got out his wand and began muttering something at the door; perhaps a spell of some kind, perhaps some kind of curse, maybe simply a swear word for it being so stubborn about opening. Whatever it was, the door creaked open after a few sharp taps on the wood, and Sirius walked inside, an impatient gesture telling her to follow him.

Inside, it was dark, with only a few flickering lamps to show the long hallway with the grimy wallpaper, dusty carpet and what Artemis thought looked strangely like a leg (but they wouldn't really use something like that, surely?) with an umbrella leaning against it. The air was slightly musty, and it was clear that no one had bothered to clean this place for a very long time. The teenager risked a glance at Sirius, who was shutting the door behind them, and wondered why he'd left it like this. Even Azkaban was kept cleaner...at least in the officers' area and hospital wing.

The wizard wrinkled his nose as he looked at a large, slightly faded patch of a crusty brown substance that had been splattered over one wall. "Not the cleanest place, I'll admit. But it'll do for now."

"Do for what?" Artemis asked, feeling slightly ill and disturbed. She was hoping that she could convince her 'guardian' -Artemis huffed at the thought- to take the wristband off. Artemis had a mission and no one would keep her from it.

Artemis missed Arran and was dead set on finding him. She knew that he felt the same, wherever Arran was.

Sirius was heading up the last few stairs, not caring if Artemis followed him or not. He decided to put her in his brother's room until she went to Hogwarts.

Arran glared angrily at the man he hated most, the one who threw his mother into Azkaban without a second thought. James noticed after a few days that Arran wasn't eating any of the food.

"Son, wh-"

Arran hissed at James. "I. Am. Not. Your. Son!"

James flinched. He couldn't understand why Arran was so hostile towards him. "Why aren't you eating? The foods not being poisoned or anything."

Arran stilled, watching James with hunger and scorn. He opened his mouth, hesitating. "... I can't live on that."

James looked confused. "What do you mean? Of course you can..."

Arran rolled his eyes. "No, I can't. Not with these on me." Arran shook his wrists angrily, "They are keeping me from eating. Artemis can survive on human food, but I can't. Not anymore."

This confused James even more. He whirled around and left the room. He wanted to tell Dumbledore about what Arran had just told him. He never saw Arran staring at him like he would be the best food in the world.

When the door closed, Arran still stared hungrily at it.

After the door shut, Arran slumped against the wall, sliding down. He hadn't had a meal in over two weeks, and the whole ordeal he just had with James sapped his energy.

If he didn't eat soon... Arran knew he would likely die.

Artemis was sitting at the dining table, watching Sirius put heaping platters of various British foods on it. Just the thought of food made the black-haired teen think of Arran and how he was doing. She knew that the people who took him didn't know what he ate to survive. They didn't know that Arran was more Dementor than human.

Artemis heard someone knock on the door harshly. Sirius glanced towards it and set the dish he was holding -treacle tart- on the table and went to answer the door. Artemis heard a short, hushed conversation before Black came back in with his guests. Dumbledore, James, and Sirius entered the dining room. Sirius sat down and started eating but the other two stood, looking at Artemis.

After a minute or so of this, Artemis turned to her plate and started putting food on it. Before she finished she heard Dumbledore clear his throat so she turned towards him and stared at the two men dismissively while chewing a piece of treacle tart.

Dumbledore took a step forward and asked," Do you have any idea why Arran cannot eat human food, Artemis?"

The black-haired teen smirked slowly, swallowing her mouthful of food. She turned back to her plate, taking a few slow bites before looking at them again.

"It's pretty simple. M... Arran can't eat human food. He's had too much of our kind of food to survive on it. I can live on both, but I enjoy the other... meals more. Arran, on the other hand, preferred to not live off of human food. No matter how good it was."

James looked confused. Dumbledore was starting to figure it out though.

"So... he eats memories, like a Dementor?" Dumbledore questioned Artemis.

"Exactly. That's the problem. These... bracelets, they are blocking our magic. And we cannot eat the way we are used to with them on. Arran is starving to death, and..." Artemis glared pointedly at James, "You'd be his first meal. He's hated you for his entire life. I personally hope no one gets in his way. Arran has a vicious streak."

Dumbledore looked shocked. He hadn't thought that Arran could be that far gone; to eat like a Dementor was definitely Dark in his opinion. James just looked hurt that his first born son could hate him that deeply, enough to want to take his happiness and maybe even his soul away.

Artemis watched them, amused at their reactions. She turned back to her plate, duly noticing Sirius staring open-mouthed at her and what she told them.

Nothing- not even Dumbledore- could stand in Arran's way forever. She knew instinctively that she wouldn't help James escape Arran's wrath; Artemis would even help him if he asked.

James suddenly stepped closer to her, putting a hand on Artemis' shoulder. She glared coldly at it, sliding her frigid gaze up to his face slowly.

"What do you need?" Artemis hissed angrily. She hated all three men with a passion. They had taken Arran from her, and were starving him in the process.

James hesitated, then said, "Well... I was hoping to come to an agreement, Artemis. If we let you live with us -with Arran- will you tell us what's going on?"

Artemis narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. A few tense minutes later, the dark-haired girl nodded. "There's one condition. Arran and I will join the Dementors at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore frowned. "We will allow you to attend as students. In your free time, you will remain on school grounds. Also, you can join the Dementors after classes. Will that satisfy you?"

She paused, then nodded slowly. "That means no more bracelets, correct? It is a school of magic, after all."

Sirius stood up angrily. "Dumbledore, you don't know what they're capable of! What if they can Kiss someone?!"

Dumbledore opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Artemis. "Both of us can, actually."

All three men turned to look at her. She rolled her eyes, huffing. "That's the problem. You see, I can eat human food," Artemis waved her hand carelessly at the uneaten food, "But Arran can't. He needs memories, like a Dementor. How long has it been since you took us from Azkaban?"

James and Sirius were still shocked by the information, so Dumbledore took a small step forward and said, "Two weeks and four days."

Artemis shot up, knocking her chair over. "Take me to him now! And bring six people from Azkaban with us. If he doesn't eat soon..." She trailed off.

Two minutes later, the kitchen was empty, the food forgotten on the table.

- THIRTY MINUTES LATER -

Artemis was standing right outside of the room where Arran was, watching Dumbledore taking the bracelet off. She was with the old Headmaster and the small group from Azkaban; they were obviously recently jailed, so they didn't recognize her.

Before Dumbledore finished taking off the Rune bracelet, he looked Artemis in the eyes. "Do not forget our deal, Artemis Riddle. You will be coming to Hogwarts."

Artemis rolled her eyes, before she spat. "Of course, Dumbledore." She paused, before saying, "But I should be the one to tell Arran. He trusts me."

Dumbledore nodded and the bracelet slipped off. Artemis opened the door, slipping in with the Azkaban group. She stopped when she saw Arran, passed out on the floor. She immediately rushed to him, gently shaking his shoulder.

Arran let out a small groan. Someone was shaking his shoulder. He opened his almond- shaped eyes blearily. When his eyes focused enough for him to see clearly, he recognized Artemis and immediately sat up, pulling her into a tight hug. After a couple of minutes of a silent reunion, Artemis pulled away. Dumbledore stepped forward, reaching for Arran's Rune bracelet. He already disabled the Runes in the room.

Arran hissed at the old man, starting to slide away when he was stopped by Artemis. He looked at her in confusion, until she smiled and said, "The bracelet. He's taking it off." She held up her own wrists.

Arran's eyes flashed. "Finally. It's only been what... three weeks? I was wondering when they would figure it out."

Arran held his arm up, waiting for Dumbledore to take the bracelet off. A minute later, it was done. Dumbledore turned and left the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Arran slowly stood, leaning on Artemis. The group from Azkaban was in the middle of the room, looking around uncertainly. Arran's eyes lit up when he saw the group and he took a shaky step towards them, before he practically lunged at a short, thin woman.

She let out a loud shriek, trying to shake him off. She was forced to the ground, with Arran on top. He pinned her arms down with his hands and leaned towards her... Then his lips met hers and her soul was gone. She immediately went still. The Elven preteen stood up, glancing at the rest of the group. They scattered when he attacked the witch.

Arran smirked darkly, and began his hunt anew.

Artemis knew that Arran needed the food, but she still hated seeing him be intimate with others. She didn't figure out why she felt so strongly about him in this way either. She mentally shrugged, deciding to think about it later.

By the time she looked up, Arran was standing over the last person. He already looked much healthier and stronger. He gave her a small smile, the one only she ever saw.

Artemis took his hand and led him out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Children of Azkaban

Chapter Seven

_**A/N: the scene with Tonks, Voldemort Jr. and Misty are dedicated to Dman303. I hope you enjoy it! Special thanks go to R. L. Ravenclaw and EndlessChains for being awesome Beta's and Tsukiyo69 for being a cool reviewer!**_

Artemis had taken Arran to an empty room. She had to tell him about the deal she'd made with Dumbledore before anyone else did. She knew if that happened, it would just make Arran mad at her.

Arran watched apprehensively when Artemis shut the door and turned to him, he asked, "How did you find me and why were you with… him?"

She opened her mouth, looking guilty. Arran narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I… I might have made a deal with him?" she said hesitantly. "It was the only way to see you again, Arran…"

Arran stiffened. "What… deal… did you make with him, Artemis?"

She looked down, and then lifted her gaze back to him. "We have to go to Hogwarts as students, but we can go wherever we want during our free time, as long as it's on the grounds. We don't have to wear the bracelets, but we will have to get wands. Dumbledore told me that we might be able to get one on the way from where I was being… held."

Arran thought about it for a minute. "That… isn't what I wanted, but it'll have to do. At least we will be able to eat with the Dementors…"

Artemis nodded quickly. The last thing she wanted was to make Arran angry with her for making the deal with the old Headmaster. He was all she had left.

Arran turned towards the door, but right before he opened it he felt Artemis' slim arms hug him from behind. She pressed her face lightly into his shirt and softly said, "I missed you…"

Arran stilled and then smiled softly. "… I missed you, too. Did they treat you well?"

"They stuck me with Sirius Black since he's my relative. He nearly attacked me for some reason after I told him my name. I was given human food, though."

Arran nodded. "They kept me in that room covered in Runes. Hardly anyone came in except to give me food that I couldn't eat. Potter came in once. He left in a hurry."

Those words made her laugh for a minute. Then, so softly that Arran almost missed it, she asked him a question. "Are… Are we okay?"

He relaxed into the hug, turning his head so he could see her. "…Yes, we are."

Artemis smiled and together they left the room.

On the way down to meet up with Dumbledore, Artemis remembered about Misty and Voldemort Jr. "Arran, do you know where our chinchilla are?"

Arran shrugged. "They're probably in a cage around here somewhere. We can ask that old man when we see him in a minute."

Tonks was terrified.

She had been asked to take care of the two chinchillas by Dumbledore three days ago, and she could have sworn that they were out to get her.

Each night, at random intervals, one or the other started screeching for no reason. Tonks quickly developed bags under her eyes and a seemingly permanent twitch under her left eye.

Every time the duo screeched at night, she would look at them, in the cage on her dresser and whenever she looked at the chinchilla, the one who wasn't screeching nudged the other one and then came the unnerving stares. The white one's eyes would change color and start to glow a deadly shade of green that was associated with the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra. The other one's eyes just glowed.

Tonks could swear that they were glaring at her. 'Maybe they just want out…?'

With that bright thought, the Metamorphmagus reached up to unlatch the door. Two glowing pairs of eyes watched her hand move and the very second the door opened, the duo looked at each other and then the glow intensified. Tonks started to feel a deep sense of fear in the pit of her stomach.

As one, the two chinchillas lunged at the hapless witch. She shrieked loudly, falling backwards onto the floor. The duo landed on her shoulders and sped off, the albino taking the lead.

For the next two weeks, Tonks was terrorized in her own home. She was randomly attacked by the chinchillas and whenever she tried to sleep, she could feel something watching her menacingly. The bags under her eyes got darker, turning almost black and the twitch got worse. She lost ten pounds because she never really finished any meals. She tried everything from leaving out offerings of food to trying to recapture them via spells and Muggle ways. Tonks attempted once to have them caught by hiring a magical animal catcher, but somehow the duo realized what she had done. The chinchillas covered all of their tracks, even in the cage. The man couldn't find a single trace of the chinchillas.

A half hour later, he gave up. The bill totaled up to thirty galleons and the duo was still free. After he left, Tonks broke down into tears. When she looked up, the two chinchilla were staring at her. Their eyes were glowing brightly.

Tonks waved her wand, closing all the doors in the hallway. She slowly stood, and her eye twitching crazily. The Metamorphmagus started laughing like an insane person. "I've got you now, you evil little beasts!"

And so they waged war in the hallway. A half hour into the battle, Tonks lost her wand to Voldemort Jr. He carried it like a prize in his mouth. She had then resorted to Muggle attacks.

Because of the miniature war in her hallway, Tonks never heard someone knock on her door. When two minutes passed with no answer, the visitors entered the house. Upon hearing something going on in the hallway, they went to investigate.

When the door at the end of the hall opened, Tonks and the two chinchillas stopped whatever they were doing and turned to face the newcomers.

This distraction gave Tonks the opportunity to pin both of them to the ground. When she got a good grip on the duo, she held them up and turned to look at the shocked visitors, James Potter and Albus Dumbledore. She giggled crazily, her eye twitching. "I finally caught the little bastards, Dumbledore!"

The two men watched in shocked horror as she walked to her room and threw the dark-furred one in and slammed the latch shut. Tonks shook Voldemort Jr. until he let go of her wand. She then stupefied the one in the cage, threw the albino chinchilla in and shut it. Poor Tonks followed this act up by casting every single locking spell she knew on the latch. Then the poor, sleep-deprived Metamorphmagus grabbed the cage, went back to the hallway, and shoved it towards James while giggling. "Here ya go! YOU can take care of them now!"

The witch herded the two men to the door, shoved them outside, slammed the door shut, and locked it for good measure. James and Dumbledore quickly glanced at each other before Apparating away.

James went back to the Potter Manor with the two chinchillas while Dumbledore rushed to Saint Mungos. He told the nurse what had happened and that Tonks would probably try to keep everyone out.

Twenty minutes later, a small group of people including Dumbledore Apparated back to Tonks' flat and found her in her room laughing like an insane person and clutching an almost empty bottle of Firewhiskey. She was immediately stupefied and taken to Saint Mungos and put in the ward for the Magically Insane.

Dumbledore could do nothing but hope that Tonks could be healed quickly. He now regretted not believing the young Metamorphmagus.

And so, the elderly Headmaster turned to Apparate to the Potter Manor. He needed to get James and go to talk to Artemis about what was wrong with Arran.

Unknowing of the hell that Tonks had gone through, Arran and Artemis waited for Dumbledore to finish talking.

A minute passed before he pulled his head out of the fire. The old man slowly stood and turned to face them.

Artemis stepped forward slightly to ask Dumbledore where Misty and Voldemort Jr. were. Before she could say a word, Arran stopped her.

"What's wrong?" Arran asked Dumbledore sharply.

Dumbledore hesitated, and then said, "… Yes. Your pets have apparently driven one of my former students temporarily insane. Her name is Nymphadora Tonks. She's in Saint Mungos for healing as of right now."

The two twelve year olds looked surprised and then shrugged at the same time. "They've only ever known us. We've had them since they were babies, so they only trust us." Arran and Artemis said, perfectly in sync while smirking.

"Plus, they love making mischief." Artemis said. Arran just nodded, still smirking.

"Where are they anyway? The albino one is mine, and the other one is hers. Their names are Voldemort Jr. and Misty."

Dumbledore frowned. "Where did you hear that name?"

Arran was the one who answered him. "We saw the name in memories. My chinchilla reminded me of him, so…" Arran trailed off.

Dumbledore simply frowned. "You can have your pets with you at Hogwarts. I put them in a cage in my office. When we get there, you may have them, as long as they behave. I don't need any students going insane, temporarily or not. Are you both ready to go to Diagon Alley now?" the Headmaster asked.

Arran and Artemis nodded, and Dumbledore quickly Apparated all of them to Diagon Alley. "The first stop will be Ollivander's. He sells a wand to every new Hogwarts student."

Arran and Artemis looked excited. They both wanted to know what kind of wand they would 'bond' with. With that thought in mind, the pair entered the shop.

When they opened the door, Olivander was standing behind the counter, staring intently at his newest customers. "I've been waiting for you two."

The duo raised their eyebrows, and then shrugged. "Do you have any wands for us?" Artemis asked.

"…Perhaps. I have many wands, as you can see."

Ollivander motioned them forward, while he reached for a large box. One by one, the elderly shop keeper drew out smaller containers. Inside each was a wand. He picked up the first two and held them out to each of them.

And so, the search began.

Thirty six minutes later, Arran and Artemis finally found the perfect match. A few others came close, though. Arran received an Ebony wand with the core being a single Phoenix feather soaked in- oddly enough- Basilisk venom. Artemis got a Rosewood wand with an equally strange core- a Kneazle whisker.

They quickly informed Dumbledore, who then paid for the two wands and left with them. He already bought the things they would need as first year students. They were going to Hogwarts now, where they would stay for the next seven years. The Headmaster told them that he was going to add a Ward to the defenses around Hogwarts that would keep them on the grounds.

Arran wasn't pleased at all, but Artemis just accepted it reluctantly. For now, there was nothing to be done.

Dumbledore showed them around the castle, pointing out where the Great Hall, bathrooms, hospital wing, and classrooms were along with the location of each house.

After he did this, Dumbledore then began to introduce Arran and Artemis to each Professor they would have a class with.

He chose to introduce Minerva McGonagall first, but he forgot that he told Minerva that Arran was James' son and that she should also never refer to him as Arran Potter. It was a shame, really.

Minerva opened her door before Dumbledore could knock even once. "Oh… is there anything you need, Headmaster? I was just about to visit Poppy."

Dumbledore stepped to the side, revealing Arran and Artemis. "Yes. Minerva, I would like to introduce two new students. I have high hopes that they will be in your House. Do you remember the two children from Azkaban?"

McGonagall glanced at them. Her eyes widened slightly. "The Riddle child and J-"

Dumbledore cut her off before she could finish. "Yes, those two. Perhaps you could tell them of what it means to be a Gryffindor?"

The Professor nodded. "Sure."

She ushered Dumbledore, Arran, and Artemis into her small living room and offered them tea. All three politely refused, so Minerva sat down.

"Gryffindor is the house of the brave and they are very protective of fellow Gryffindors. We stand as one and watch each others' backs. This is what a Gryffindor does. I do hope you will be there, Mr. Potter. It was your father's house, after all."

Dumbledore and Artemis paled slightly.

"What did you call me?" Arran hissed, reminding McGonagall of an angry snake.

She raised an eyebrow slightly. "I called you Mr. Potter. Is there a problem?" Minerva queried, not noticing Dumbledore's reaction.

Arran's expression turned frigid and sent a shiver down McGonagall's back. "I am in no way related to that pitiful excuse of a man. I have no father, Professor. Don't ever compare me to Potter again. Do you understand me?!"

That just incensed Minerva. No child should speak to her like that!

She stood up angrily, quickly followed by Arran. "How dare y-"

This time, she was cut off by Artemis, who was dragging Arran towards the door. Dumbledore took one look at the woman and knew that Minerva wouldn't calm down anytime soon. He turned and followed the two students-to-be out.

'I still need Arran to be in Gryffindor and Artemis in Slytherin. They have to be separated… Perhaps I can put a spell on the Hat to make sure of this?' the Headmaster thought absentmindedly. 'Yes, I'll try tomorrow during the Sorting. There's no other way that I can see this happening as of right now…'

Dumbledore pushed the train of thought to the back burner. He had to figure out how to get Minerva and Arran on good terms with each other.

In all this 'excitement', he forgot to introduce the other Professors.

The train just set off for Hogwarts. For some odd reason nobody saw neither hide nor hair of Neville Longbottom-Potter or his loyal sidekick, Ronald Weasley.

When the train pulled into the Hogwarts Station, everyone found out why. The pudgy boys were beaten and bruised, standing in front of an absolutely livid Severus Snape.

"Both of you will serve detention with me for the rest of the school year for this abhorrent attempt to obtain more fame! And a hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor each!" The furious Head of Slytherin spat before swirling around and stalking back to the castle.

Neville started ranting about how the punishment was unfair. The only two who really listened was Ron and Ginny Weasley. The only reason Ginny stayed was because her mother filled her head with the idea that one day, Neville would marry her and Ginny would be rich. Everyone else just began walking up to the castle.

A few minutes later, Neville finally noticed this. He glared at the large group of students who were almost at the castle doors. With an angry huff, he stomped childishly towards Hogwarts.

When he entered Hogwarts, Neville went straight to the Gryffindor table with Ron. Ginny went to the long line of students to be Sorted. A minute later Dumbledore stood, beaming and began the yearly speech happily.

"I do hope you all had a wonderful evening! Now… to our new students, I welcome to Hogwarts. To the old, I welcome you back! Another full year of magical education awaits you…"

Almost all the students just tuned him out, waiting for the Sorting to start.

Arran stood right next to Artemis, and both of them were waiting impatiently. They were determined to be in the same House, no matter what.

When the names started being called, Arran was listening for his name being called in the 'E' section. He never heard it.

Arran hissed angrily. _**"*He didn't list me as Evans!*"**_

Artemis just winced. _**"*Nothing to be done about it now, Arran… you'll just have to wait to speak to Dumbledore.*"**_

He growled angrily and waited for the 'P' section. They only had to wait about eight minutes.

Minerva grinned mentally. 'He should know that crossing me was a very bad choice on his part, especially if he's a Gryffindor…'

"Potter, Arran, please step forward to be Sorted."

Artemis tightened her hold for a second, and then gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek before letting go.

Arran stalked forward and sat down, glaring at everyone coldly. The Hat slipped over his head, but was stopped by his pointed ears.

No one noticed that Dumbledore had drawn his wand.

'Ah, so you are the newest Po- oh, you don't seem to like that name, not at all, Mr. Evans. Where to put you now… hmmm… You are a smart one, I'll give you that, but Ravenclaw has a different kind of smart then you have… Hufflepuff doesn't suit you in the least, so… That leaves Gryffindor and Slytherin-'

'I refuse to be in Gryffindor!' Arran hissed mentally.

'Oh…? I don't think Gryffindor suits you any more then Hufflepuff does…. Very well, you should be in- What is he doing in here?!'

A shimmery form of Dumbledore appeared in the conversation. He said, 'Arran must be a Gryffindor. It's in his blood…'

Both the Hat and Arran snapped at him. Arran then growled, 'I will never accept that house as my own!'

The Hat shook itself in a sideways motion. 'This boy holds none of the Gryffindor qualities, Dumbledore. He fits into Slytherin perfectly, so to Slytherin he shall go.'

The Headmaster kept trying to convince the Hat that Arran should be a Gryffindor, but both of them ignored him.

The Hat opened its mouth, and shouted a single short sentence.

"Mr. Evans shall be in SLYTHERIN!" the Hat emphasized two words- Evans and Slytherin.

Dumbledore was pushed back into his own mind with a small frown on his face. 'That Hat is too stubborn for its own good.' he thought

Arran snatched the Hat off of his head and put it on the stool, shooting an icy glare at Dumbledore which was pointedly ignored.

Arran stalked up to the Slytherin table. A few of them examined him curiously. They didn't know what to make of him so he was left to his own devices.

Artemis was called up next. The Hat immediately yelled, "SLYTHERIN!"

Artemis quickly joined Arran, sitting in the seat next to him.

Dumbledore scowled mentally, watching her as she sat down and started talking to Arran. He wanted to keep them separate so they would have less time to figure out a way around the Ward keeping them here. The Headmaster decided that he would just have to keep the two occupied by schoolwork and such.

The Sorting soon came to an end and everyone ate their fill. Arran and Artemis didn't even spare the tableful of food a thought, much less a glance. Instead, they slowly drew memories and emotions from people- trying to only take one from each student- around them. They only did this for about seven minutes before they had had their fill of 'food.'

Nobody could figure out what made all of the Slytherin's, most of the Hufflepuff's, half of the Ravenclaw's and a few Gryffindor's shiver and glance around, looking for an invisible threat.

A few Slytherins saw that Arran and Artemis weren't eating the food in from of them. They alerted the rest of the table, and each Slytherin kept a slightly curious eye on the pair. They all thought that sooner or later, the new snakes would eat. No one informed them that Arran and Artemis weren't quite human and Dumbledore 'conveniently' forgot to tell Severus Snape.

The Welcoming Feast lasted about an hour. When Dumbledore noticed that almost all the students were waiting for him to end it, he stood up and bid them all a good night.

All of the houses quickly vacated the Great Hall, with the Slytherins leaving last. Many of them sneered at the other three houses whenever one would trip over someone else's feet in their hurry to lie in their comfortable beds or talk to friends.

The house of the snakes left as one, making their way down to the dungeons. When they reached the portrait to the Slytherin dormitories, the prefects told the new snakes the password, which was Parseltongue. And so the first day passed with no real significance for the duo other than the Headmaster stopping Artemis in the hallway and giving her the two chinchilla.

The next morning, Arran woke up early, so he got dressed and Voldemort Jr. scampered up to the top of his head. When he finished getting all of his school things together, he headed down to the common room to wait for Artemis.

He was kept waiting for about an hour and a half and by then, most of the Slytherins left for an early breakfast.

Artemis finally came down, looking irritated. "I'm sorry about being late, Arran."

She slipped into the Dementor's tongue. "*The girls I am rooming with seemed to find messing with me funny. I will get them back later, perhaps tonight…*"

Arran nodded. "*Do you want help? I want to release my Dementor aura, too. I don't like holding it back and I don't want to be here anyway. What about you, Artemis?*"

Artemis shook her head. "*No, I will be fine. And yea, I want to release it, too. On three, then?*"

Arran grinned at her. "*One*"

"*Two!*"

Together they hissed, "*THREE.*"

A second later, a cold wave spread around the Slytherin common room. A thin layer of ice started spreading across the floor around their feet. If anyone else had been there, they would feel like Death itself came for them. Both of the preteens relaxed, and smiled softly.

"*I was beginning to forget how good it felt to not have to hold back. Dumbledore forgot to add any conditions about our power, so I'm not about to reign my aura in.*"Artemis remarked.

Arran just grinned devilishly. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight, for reasons Artemis wasn't sure she even wanted to know yet.

Since they had the same schedule, Arran and Artemis clasped hands and stepped forward. The shadows bent around them. A mere second later, the two Slytherin's appeared in the shadows near their next class. They wanted to be early to all of their classes on the first day.

Arran and Artemis stepped into the Potions classroom, looking around curiously. The only other person there was the potions master and the head of the house Slytherin, Severus Snape. When he heard the door open, the professor looked up to see who had come in so early and then he watched as Arran and Artemis glanced around and then focused on him.

Severus shivered. "I must ask the both you to turn off your Dementor's aura. Dumbledore informed me of your… powers… last night. I do not need the other new students wetting themselves or messing up the potion I am going to assign today. In any other class, you may release the aura."

The two snakes paused, blinking once or twice. "Er… okay, Professor." Arran said.

Both of them then withdrew their aura as much as they could. The result was that anyone who came too close became uncomfortable. Severus nodded, satisfied. "You will of course be partnered with one other person. I will be assigning the class into groups of three, so your third might very well be a Gryffindor."

Arran and Artemis nodded solemnly. They quickly chose a seat and sat down to wait for their classmates. They didn't wait too long for the boisterous Gryffindors and aloof Slytherins to come in.

Snape promptly shot the loud first years an icy glare. The snakes just snickered. They loved seeing the lions get into trouble. Arran and Artemis both just raised an eyebrow and turned to each other hissing quietly.

"*I heard a rumor that Neville Longbottom-Potter and that Weasel were held back in Potions. Do you suppose it's true? If it is, then Potter will be in this class again…*"

Arran looked irritated. "*I hope not. If he is and paired with us… it won't be pretty, Artemis.*"

Artemis looked thoughtful. "*Maybe he will be paired with us. Professor Snape might do that just to spite James Potter. Will you be okay with him in the same room, Arran?*"

"*… Maybe. It would depend on him.*"

A few of the students were getting close enough to hear them whispering, so they stopped speaking the Tongue of the Dementor's. Arran didn't want the other students to know anything about them.

Just then the door slammed open and Neville came in, trying to look cool. Ron was right behind him. Ginny had saved a seat for both of them, so Ron sat to her left. Neville stopped, obviously waiting for her to move.

Ginny Weasley didn't know that Neville always sat next to her brother.

When she patted the seat to her right, Neville got angry.

"Move, girl! I always sit in the middle. You can go sit with the slimy snakes over there." He snapped, waving his hand in the general direction of the Slytherins. Most of the Slytheri's glared, and a few looked on the verge of hexing him for the comment.

Ginny looked surprised. When she didn't move, Neville made to hit her. He was stopped by Artemis, who stood and Shadowed across the room. Artemis easily pushed him back and proceeded to slap him across the cheek.

After Neville staggered back holding his cheek and looking shocked, she pulled out her wand, hexing him thoroughly with a Stinging Hex.

"NEVER hit a girl in front of me, Potter!" Artemis hissed angrily. Ginny, along with the rest of the class, were all in various states of surprise. Arran just looked amused.

Neville glared at the dark-haired Snake. "When my father hears about this-"

Artemis just rolled her eyes. "Hears what? That you were going to hit a girl and were beaten by a Slytherin instead? My, my. He must be very proud of you, Potter!" All of the Slytherins and a few Gryffindors were looking amused now.

That was the scene that Severus Snape saw when he entered the room. "Miss Riddle, please explain to me exactly what happened while I wasn't here."

Artemis quickly told him that Neville tried to hit Ginny, but Artemis stopped him. She was given twenty house points and Neville lost twenty five points from Gryffindor.

The Potions Master then proceeded to separate Neville from Ron and Ginny. Arran and Artemis were allowed to be paired up together with no partner, due to the fact that there weren't enough students.

Severus waved his wand at the chalkboard, making the instructions for a simple Pepper-Up potion. The rest of class passed in a quiet manner.

When Snape dismissed the class, he gave Arran and Artemis a small nod. They both stayed behind.

"You may release your auras now. Thank you for keeping it bound during the spat earlier. As my snakes, I expect you to watch each other's backs. You may go to your next class now. Do try to keep out of trouble."

The two students then left to have their first Transfiguration class.

A/N: I won't be going into detail about every class- just Potions and Transfiguration on the first day. Everything else will be mentioned vaguely every now and again. Enjoy!


End file.
